


Retreat

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Whumptober 2020 [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Fluff, Full Shift Werewolves, Hale Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Nemeton, Nightmares, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Peter Hale Needs a Hug, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Self-Hatred, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Swearing, They all need hugs, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Werewolf Courting, Wolf Peter Hale, everyone needs hugs and therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Stiles is not okay. He struggles with the aftermath of being possessed by the Nogitsune. Alone. A worried Derek invites him to his cabin in the mountains, which he shares with Cora and Peter. Stiles is totally on board with getting as far away from Beacon Hills as possible, especially when it means he gets his own comfort wolf.
Relationships: Cora Hale & Peter Hale, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Peter Hale, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Whumptober 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949101
Comments: 257
Kudos: 643
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober Day 15: Possession

Something is wrong.  
  
Something … Stiles can’t pinpoint what exactly is wrong, but he feels it. The wrongness creeps up, slowly filling every cell of his mind. He is walking down a dark and empty hallway. He walks past open lockers, past half-deflated balloons on the floor and ripped garlands hanging from the ceiling. They are pale grey. Colorless like everything else here.  
  
Stiles walks on. Not because he wants to, but because he has to. Something forces him to move. Forces him to put one foot in front of the other. He walks on and only hears the echo of his own breath, until … Until the hallway is suddenly filled with hollow muffled laughter. It echoes from the walls. Stiles freezes. No …  
  
“Yes,” a hoarse voice whispers. It seems to come from everywhere. “Yes, Stiles. I’m here. I won’t ever leave you alone. Not me. I’m the only one who will always stay with you …”  
  
“No,” Stiles breathes, closing his eyes. “No, no, no …”

“We are going to have so much fun, Stiles. Just look. Look what we have done. Isn’t it beautiful? Look at our hands, Stiles. _Look_!”

The last word is a demand. It shakes Stiles and he has to open his eyes, although he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to see …

 _Look._  
  
Stiles looks down at his trembling hands. They are sticky with blood. The blood is the only thing that has color here. Red. His hands are drenched in red. Stiles screams.

He screams and wakes up abruptly, sitting upright in his bed and staring into the void. 

Stiles pants and blinks for a while, until his sleep-addled mind starts to realize it was a nightmare. Just another nightmare. He is used to it by now. But that doesn’t make it better. Or more bearable. 

Stiles shudders. He has goosebumps. He rubs his burning eyes and rolls around in bed with a heavy sigh. A glimpse of early morning light already falls through the curtains and a few first birds sing timidly. Stiles knows he won’t be able to fall asleep again. So he sees no use to stay in bed any longer. 

Stiles drags his exhausted body into the shower cubicle and makes the water so hot he can hardly stand it. But he needs it that way. He scrubs his hands violently, feeling like they will never feel clean ever again. There is blood on them. He can’t see it. But there is.  
  
God. He caused so much pain …

Stiles whimpers and scrubs his hands some more, until his skin starts to burn. He wants to feel clean again. Wants to wash off all the blood and guilt and pain and regret and the knowledge that nothing will ever be fine again. Because the past, what he did, can never be changed. It happened. And he hates himself.  
  
Stiles is sure, he isn’t the only one.  
  


* * *

Stiles’ Dad is at the station the whole day. An important tough case. Stiles is kind of relieved he will be alone. He can’t hear another “Are you alright?”.  
  
Since it’s the holidays - he doesn’t go to school yet anyway, is still on “sick leave” - Stiles decides to clean the jeep. All he does these days involves cleaning somehow. He is sure a therapist would find that very interesting.  
  
The day is not too cold, but there is a breeze now and then, making Stiles shiver. He is scrubbing the jeep’s reduction hood almost violently, when suddenly, a voice behind him makes him jump.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
Stiles yelps and reaches for his chest. He could swear his heart has just faltered a beat. “Derek!” He turns around and glares at the werewolf who is standing a few metres away, arms crossed and wearing the usual standard frown on his face. “Do you really have to sneak up on me like that!?” 

Derek doesn’t say anything.  
  
Stiles sighs. Talkative like always. Well, Stiles didn’t see a lot of Derek and the other Hales lately. Actually, he hasn’t seen a lot of anyone. He’s avoiding people. He doesn’t even know where Derek has been the last few weeks. “What are you doing here?” he asks while continuing cleaning, aware he sounds mildly aggressive. 

“I’ve wanted to make sure everyone is okay,” Derek says. Then: “How is everyone?”

“I’m … not really talking to anyone,” Stiles mutters and shrugs, angrily slamming the wet cloth on the jeep’s window. 

“Yeah. I heard so,” Derek says. 

From who, Stiles wonders. But does he really want to know? People aren’t talking to him a lot either. Of course there are Scott’s messages and phone calls and everything. But their talks are short and sound hollow. Forced. Stiles doesn’t like them. So he often pretends he doesn’t notice a call. Or a message. It’s the same with Lydia. And Isaac. Everyone. 

Stiles decides to stop cleaning because his hands are freezing. His stomach rumbles and he figures it would be a good idea to make some food. Ugh.  
  
He puts his bucket on the ground a bit too hard and water splashes on the street, seeping away. Stiles walks into the house without another word to Derek. He isn’t really surprised when the werewolf just follows him inside. He doesn’t have the energy to tell him to piss off. 

Stiles goes right into the kitchen and opens the fridge, taking out everything he needs for a very quick sandwich he won’t really taste anyway. 

When he prepares to cut a tomato, Derek says, “I wanted to see how you are doing too.”  
  
“Oh, I’m just peachy,” Stiles grumbles and his grip around the knife tightens. “Do you want a sandwich?” 

“Stiles. You’re not peachy. How are you really doing?” Derek asks. And he sounds sincere. Sincere and … way too caring. _Fuck_. It’s been a second and Stiles can already feel his lower lip trembling. No, he snarls at himself. No. You are not going to start to cry now. Not now. Not in front of someone who _knows_. No. 

But of course, because his mind is broken and his walls weak, he does exactly that. He sobs once, loudly, and then can’t do anything against the tears overflowing his eyes and slowly starting to trickle down his face, dripping from his chin on the stupid tomato. Stiles wipes them away with the sleeve of his hoodie angrily. “Fuck,” he sniffs, leaning on the kitchen counter heavily. “Fuck!” 

Derek is silent behind him. He just breathes. And waits. 

Stiles tries to get a grip on himself. Tries to force the tears back. But he can’t. And he starts to breathe faster, because his mind starts to tell him how pathetic and fucked up he is. Why is he crying? He doesn’t deserve release, or care, or comfort. He doesn’t deserve …

“Fuck, I … I think I have kind of a breakdown,” Stiles says weakly, swaying. Suddenly, there is an arm on his shoulder, guiding him to a chair with gentle but persistent pressure. 

“Sit, Stiles,” Derek orders. 

Stiles slumps. He puts his head in his hands and sniffles. 

Derek watches him, his face serious. “Did you talk to anyone?” 

“Fuck, no. I don’t … I’m not talking about it,” Stiles snorts. “I can’t. If I do, _this_ happens.” 

Derek frowns. “You can’t deal with it all by yourself. It is too much.”  
  
“Is it? Maybe I’m just really whiny. Really pathetic,” Stiles mumbles and chuckles bitterly. 

“You’re not,” Derek says and has this awful expression again. Like he really cares. “Stiles, you are not pathetic.” 

“Yeah, well. Sometimes, I can’t help but feeling I am,” Stiles sighs and wipes his eyes again. His sleeve comes away soaked. “I’m breaking apart. And … Staying in this stupid town, where it all happened doesn’t make it better,” Stiles scoffs. “Sometimes, I just want to disappear and not return,” he adds. 

Crap. He shouldn’t talk so much. He is tired and who knows what else he might accidentally spill. If he doesn’t tell his stupid mouth to shut up, worse things might burst out. Like the thoughts about punishing himself he sometimes has. That can’t happen. He starts to chew on his lower lip instead. 

Derek eyes him for a long moment. Finally, he calmly says, “I have rented a cabin. Far from here. In the mountains. That’s where I have been. You could come with me and stay there for a while.”  
  
Stiles perks up, a sudden wave of surprise rushing through him. “You’re serious?” 

“Sure. It’s the holidays, after all, right? If your Dad doesn’t have anything against it, you can come. Cora’s there too, and ...” For a moment, Derek looks like he wants to add something, but then he frowns and just makes a vague hand gesture. “You’re welcome.” 

Stiles snuffles and nods frantically. “I want.” 

_Sign me the fuck up._

* * *

When his Dad comes home, Stiles is prepared for the usual routine. 

“How have you been?” 

“Alright.” It’s Stiles’ standard answer for people he doesn’t want to bother with his issues. 

His Dad gives him a look, but doesn’t say anything. He just nods and changes into more comfortable clothes before shoving a frozen pizza into the oven. 

After Stiles has eaten half a piece, he clears his throat and decides it is the perfect moment to mention Derek’s invitation. “Derek has a cabin in the mountains now.” 

“Really,” his Dad says, arching a brow. 

“Yeah. Uh. He invited me there. And, I’d really like to go. It would be … like vacation. And I would get away from this town for a while.” 

Stiles’ Dad looks at him for a while, chewing on his third piece of pizza. Finally, he swallows and smiles. “Sure. A break … I’m sure it will do you good.”

Stiles exhales relieved. “Thanks, Dad.” He appreciates that there is no talk about if Stiles really thinks he is fine enough to go on a trip. 

And now he is really looking forward to seeing this town disappearing in the rearview mirror.  
  


Stiles packs his bags in the evening, feeling both anxious and strangely excited.  
  


* * *

In the morning, Derek is waiting for Stiles, leaning against his car, his arms crossed.  
  
He is wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses, although it is autumn and the leaves are already changing their color. He helps Stiles to put his suitcase into the trunk and then opens the door for Stiles, arching a brow invitingly. 

Derek’s car is one of these shiny expensive cars Stiles is mildly intimidated by, because he feels like he desecrates it with his cheap clothes. He sits down on the leather very carefully. He can’t contain a whistle when Derek starts the car and the motor roars. Derek grins. 

They don’t talk much while driving, but that’s okay. Stiles is perfectly fine with watching the landscape changing from rural to wilderness. It is beautiful. He can’t wait to be in the mountains, far away from people. Far away from Beacon Hills and the regret following him around there like a shadow. 

When they have been driving for two hours, Derek clears his throat. “There is something you need to know,” he says, sounding a bit worried. 

Stiles frowns. His stomach sinks a bit. Was it all … a joke? No. That can’t be, can it? Why would Derek do something like that? Or … God, what if it is a horribly specific extra long illusion? Stiles shivers involuntarily and forces himself not to count his fingers. Please. No. “Uh, what do I need to know?” he asks carefully. 

“Peter is there too,” Derek says, shooting Stiles a quick glance, before focusing back on the street.  
  
“Oh. Okay.” Stiles relaxes, quick relief replacing the hint of worry. He doesn’t really have a problem with Peter. Not anymore. Not since Peter helped the pack on numerous occasions, let Stiles borrow his precious books, and found a way to get rid of the Nogitsune. Stiles frowns. As far as he knows, Derek gets along with Peter better now, so he doesn’t really understand Derek’s worried tone or his glance. “Why would you think that Peter being there is a problem?” he can’t help but wonder. 

Derek sighs. “Peter … It is complicated. Look, there has been an incident at his apartment building. A fire.”  
  
Stiles freezes. “Oh. Fuck.”  
  
“Yeah. His apartment didn’t get damaged, but he couldn’t stay there. He asked me for help. It’s Peter. If he asks for help like that, it’s bad. So I took him to the cabin. One night, I woke up from him screaming. Must have had a nightmare. When I entered his room, he was shifted. He hasn’t shifted back since then.” 

Stiles swallows. “How long?” 

“Almost a month now.” 

“Wow,” Stiles murmurs, his stomach clenching. It must have been horrible for Peter to be present when there was a fire, when there was smoke in the air and the sounds of sirens approached. It must have resurfaced everything. The memories of the fire, the trauma and the coma and everything that came after. So many demons.  
  
From all the people Stiles knows, he thinks Peter would know - understand - best what he is going through. Peter hasn’t been possessed, but he too lost control over himself, lost control over the wolf and his instincts.  
  
And now, apparently, he lost it again. “He is not, uh, like … like back then, right?” he asks a bit concerned. He doesn’t really want to face nightmare-monster-werewolf Peter again. 

Derek shakes his head. “No. It’s a proper shift this time. But … it’s not healthy, Stiles. He’s letting the wolf shield him from everything the human would have to deal with. It’s not wise. I shift sometimes too, of course. It feels good. Feels good to be the wolf for a while, to just feel and run and not care about things. But … It bears risks to be the wolf for so long. You can lose your human side. Bit by bit. The thing is, it almost seems like it doesn’t matter to him. Not anymore. I can’t get him to shift back.” He narrows his eyes. “I don’t like it.”

Stiles has the sudden mean urge to ask Derek how he knows what is healthy, but underneath, he gets it. “Maybe, he just needs time,” he says quietly. _Like I do. I need time. So many people won’t accept that. They want more. They want me to tell them what else I need, why I won’t talk, why I won’t look at them, why, why, why._

Derek hums, glancing at Stiles again. “Yeah. Maybe.”  
  
The rest of the ride passes in silence. 

The mountains are stunning. Huge and tops covered in snow. They seem to stretch into the distance endlessly. They are surrounded by forests, by fir trees amidst colorful deciduous trees. 

The wooden cabin is small, but looks incredibly cozy. It has a porch with a bench and a table. Stiles can see a book laying on it when he and Derek approach. 

Cora appears, leaning in the doorframe of the entrance, wearing a shirt and short jeans. Stiles involuntarily shudders at the sight, because it is already so cold. But then, he knows that werewolves run hot. They are their very own heaters. 

Cora throws her long hair back and looks Stiles up and down. “Hey.”  
  
“Hi, Cora,” Stiles says, hoping he doesn’t blush. He had a little crush on Cora after all. Right after she appeared at school for the first time. 

She smirks and walks towards the porch, gently bumping against Derek on the way, greeting him that way. 

Derek leads Stiles into the cabin. It is tidy and smells faintly of coffee. Upstairs, there is a small bedroom that looks very unused. Stiles immediately knows it is his. He puts the suitcase on the bed and throws a look out the window, whistling. The view is spectacular. 

“Where is Peter?” Stiles asks curiously.

Derek shrugs. “He comes and goes as he pleases,” he says and Stiles can hear in his voice, that he is not happy about that fact. “You should lock the door, otherwise he might sneak into your room at night and scare the crap out of you. He is able to use a door knob."  
  
Stiles isn’t sure how that makes him feel. “Uh. Okay.” 

“Do you want to stay in here or are you hungry? Cora made coffee and we have lasagna,” Derek says. 

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry. I guess, I’m getting settled?” 

Derek nods. “Sure.” He leaves the room without another word, gently closing the door behind himself. 

Stiles takes a deep breath and starts to unpack his things. 

* * *

  
  


The night is incredibly silent. There is no car driving by, no dog barking or people laughing on the street. There is just the quiet chirping of crickets, a rustling now and then or an owl calling out hollowly. It is perfect. 

Stiles can see the sky from where he is laying on his bed. It is littered with stars. 

He stays awake a while, just to wait and watch the occasional comet.  
  
When his eyes start to feel really heavy, he hears a scratching noise at the door and smiles faintly. He didn’t lock it after all. He was too curious.  
  
It takes only a moment until the door swings open with a silent creak, and claws click on the floor. A shadow moves through the room, approaching the bed with slow but sure steps. Stiles carefully moves to lay on his side, to take a proper look. His breath falters at the sight. He has seen Derek fully shifted two or three times, but it is still incredible to see an actual wolf up close.

The moon and the stars are bright enough to give Stiles a good look. Contrary to Derek, whose fur is dark and reminds Stiles of chocolate when the sun is falling on it, Peter looks like one of the classic wolves you find in internet articles. Grey and light brown, with one white spot on one ear that looks surprisingly adorable. Peter-wolf sits down in front of the bed, looking up at Stiles with a huff, his eyes gleaming neon blue briefly.

“Hey Peter,” Stiles says, “Nice to see you. Derek dragged me here because I had kind of a nervous breakdown right in front of him. Had enough of the town anyway.”  
  
Peter-wolf looks at him attentively. Then, he yawns, revealing a perfect row of sharp white fangs. Stiles grins. He already likes that there is no answer to his words. No words pressing him to talk on. To explain. To say _why_. 

Peter-wolf puts his front paws on the bed and tilts his head, his expression definitely questioning. 

Stiles chuckles. “Sure. Yeah. Why not. But please don’t chew on my feet with these teeth.”  
  
Peter-wolf huffs and jumps on the bed. It creaks protestingly under the added weight and Stiles does feel mildly intimidated for a moment, until Peter-wolf curls up at the end of the bed - right on Stiles’ bare feet. And wow, the wolf is heavy, but a heater. A wonderfully soft heater.  
  
Peter-wolf makes a rumbling noise that sounds very content and licks Stiles’ ankle. Once. With a very cold wet tongue.

“Ew. Stop that,” Stiles says, shaking his head. He hesitates, but then puts his hand on Peter-wolf’s back. Which gifts him another rumbling noise. Stiles smiles and runs his hands through fur. There are some knots in it and Stiles gently combs them out and removes some entangled burs.

“You know, if I could be a wolf, I would probably never shift back. Well, only for like, brushing my teeth from time to time, because stinky wolf breath is gross, but otherwise …” Stiles shrugs. “I would run through the forest all the time, only caring about the next hunt. I would dream of chasing rabbits instead of … of my own hands hurting the people I care about.” Stiles swallows heavily as a wave of anxiety rushes through him. 

Peter-wolf glances at him, starting to make constant noises that sound like purrs. They definitely have a calming effect on Stiles. The anxiety slowly ebbs away. 

Stiles sighs and yawns, feeling the exhaustion coming from three nights of bad sleep really getting to him. “I get why you don’t want to change back,” he murmurs, still running his fingers through Peter-wolf’s fur. “I get it. People are so demanding. They ask too many questions. Questions you can’t answer. Sometimes, it would be nice if someone just listened. Like you. You listen. It’s nice. I would listen too, you know? You could talk to me about what happened at the apartment building. I wouldn’t ask. Just … listen.”  
  
Stiles yawns again. He’s getting really tired. So he lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling, listening to the wolf’s heavy breaths and enjoying the warmth surrounding his feet. “I think,” he says quietly, “I think you would understand what’s happening to me. Better than anyone else. You would care, wouldn’t you? After all, you helped with getting that thing out of me. It is okay if you don’t want to shift back, yet. Take your time. And I have to remember to take mine.” 

Stiles closes his eyes. He falls asleep in the matter of seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles wakes up to the mouthwatering smell of pancakes. 

First he thinks, maybe he is still dreaming. Who would be making pancakes for him? His Dad usually isn’t there in the morning and even if he is, he happens to be a terrible cook and sticks to the easy things. Toast, butter, jam and eggs. But pancakes … Stiles doesn’t know how long it has been since he had those. 

Stiles rolls around in bed with a sniff and a happy sigh, his stomach rumbling to remind him how long it has been since he had a full, extensive meal. When Stiles wiggles his toes, he realises Peter-wolf is gone. The only sign he has been there at all are a few silver hairs on the white crumpled sheets. 

Stiles smiles when he remembers how nice it has been, to talk to the wolf. To just talk without being interrupted. Without having to reorder his thoughts or think about a suitable reaction to something unexpected. It is still somehow strange to know that this gentle cuddly wolf is Peter, who apparently doesn’t have a lock for his mouth, spills out the most inappropriate things to the most terrible times, and can’t seem to sit or stand still for more than a minute, when something is going on.

Stiles never really had a problem with all of that, since he’s been told by teachers ever since he started school, how loose his own mouth is. He has received more than one threat, that they will start to bind him to the chair if he doesn't stop shifting around on it.

Actually, Stiles has never really felt uncomfortable in Peter's presence, which has always bewildered the others, mostly Scott and Lydia. Which is understandable, really. They don't have the best of memories when it comes to Peter, after all. Stiles wonders what they would think of the wolf. If they would believe that it's actually Peter, only in another form.  
  
He also wonders if Peter is ever going to change back to human. He seems to be content like this. More content than Stiles has ever seen him human.

But who knows, maybe people like them just need to nope out from time to time. 

Stiles mentally shrugs and sits up with a yawn. He really needs to get to those pancakes. 

* * *

Stiles toddles down the stairs after a short visit to the bathroom, following the promising scent like a wolf would. 

The cabin now looks bigger than it did the other day. Maybe, because Stiles takes his time to truly take it in. The stairs lead him into a wide area that seems to be living room and kitchen at the same time. Everything is quite spare. A table with four chairs, a couch and a carpet. There is a cozy looking fireplace and a small, tidy kitchen unit from where the delicious scent comes from. It looks like everything was put together in a hurry and without much thinking, but maybe that is exactly what makes it look and feel homey.  
  
Cora is the one cooking. She is leaning against the kitchen counter, watching over the pancakes with a critical frown while also scrolling down her smartphone. She mumbles a "morning" when she notices Stiles. 

Derek is nowhere to be seen. 

But Peter-wolf is curled up on the blue couch, taking up almost all the space. He glances up when Stiles approaches, his tail wagging exactly one time before he sags again, eyes closing with a huff that sounds mildly annoyed. 

“Your wolf is as much of an early riser as the human, I see,” Stiles chuckles. He looks over to Cora and scratches his head, kind of unsure what he is supposed to do now. His eyes fall on the empty table in the middle of the room and he lights up. He guesses, he can’t do much wrong with laying a table for breakfast. 

When Cora casually brushes shoulder with him as he opens a drawer to find plates, Stiles doesn’t even wince. Being around werewolves almost all the time, he got used to the brief touches. He hasn’t been scent-marked in a while now, with isolating himself and keeping his distance from Scott and the rest of the pack, so it feels nice, to have that again now, even though a silent voice in his mind whispers, _you don’t deserve it._ Right now though, it is easy to push that voice away. 

Stiles marvels at how Cora flips the pancake easily. It is perfectly golden. She slides it on a plate, on top of the little heap already waiting on it. After pouring another scoop of dough into the pan, she pours maple syrup on the pancakes. After a moment of consideration, she pours even more on it. Stiles’ mouth waters at the sight of the golden liquid trickling down the heap of pancakes. Cora smirks and hands him the plate. “You are hungry,” she states, “I can hear your stomach rumbling.” 

Stiles blushes and takes the plate, moving over to the table. “Thanks.” 

Cora joins him with a plate of her own and a pack of orange juice. Stiles takes a moment to just look at his heap of pancakes because, hot damn. The first bite is literal heaven. He groans and Cora cocks a brow, amused. 

“These are perfect. You are an amazing cook,” Stiles tells her, drowning his next bite in the sticky maple syrup gathering on his plate. 

Cora smiles and strokes her hair back. “Thanks. I had a great teacher,” she says, glancing at the dozing wolf on the couch. 

“Peter cooks too?” 

Cora nods. “Way better than me. And he is merciless when someone else dares to cook while he is present. Do you know Gordon Ramsay?” 

Stiles chuckles. “Sure.” 

Cora smirks. “Well he is nothing compared to my uncle.” 

Peter’s ear twitches. The only sign that he is awake and listening. 

“He does understand every word, right?” Stiles asks, just to be sure. 

Cora hums around a piece of pancake. “If he wants to, then yeah. When we shift, it’s like the wolf is in the driver’s seat, instead of in the backseat. We can choose to lean back, but we are still present. You can see in his reactions, if he is listening or not.” 

“Do you shift too sometimes?” Stiles asks, just to keep the conversation going. When Cora’s hand freezes in the air, holding the fork with a piece of pancake stabbed on it, a shadow appearing in her eyes, he immediately notices it wasn’t the best of questions and most probably a trigger for something unpleasant.

Cora unfreezes and puts her fork down, shaking her head. “Not anymore. It’s too soon. Too fresh. I still remember the full moon nights, when we were all together the whole time, when everything was clear, everyone was careless, and …” She stops and sighs. “Sorry. I can’t do this.” 

Stiles nods. He doesn’t know if he should say he’s sorry or not. But he knows the feeling of choking on your own words. “You don’t have to,” he says in the end. 

Cora looks up at him, smiling weakly, which is a good sight. Before she can say anything else, Derek comes into the room, carrying a huge heap of chopped wood. Stiles is mildly amused when he sees a light brown leaf caught in Derek’s dark hair. Apparently, the werewolf hasn’t noticed it yet.  
  
Derek puts the heap of wood in front of the fireplace and glances at Peter-wolf on the couch, the crease between his eyes deepening. “Have you eaten anything yet?” he asks gruffly. 

The wolf doesn’t even open his eyes. 

Derek looks at Cora instead. “Has he eaten anything yet?” There is distress in his voice. 

Cora rolls her eyes. “Derek … Relax. He is grown up. I am certainly not going to feed him. He can take care of himself. After all, he can always catch himself some rabbit, right?” 

Derek grimaces. “I’m going to shift after I repaired the roof.”  
  
Cora sighs and Stiles feels like she is trying to hold back another eye roll. “Alright.” 

Derek stomps outside again. 

Cora and Stiles finish their breakfast in silence. But it is the comfortable kind of silence Stiles cherishes so much here.  
  


* * *

The day promises to be as mild and bright as the last one. 

Cora settles on the porch with her book. Derek disappears into his room, mumbling about preparing for the shift. Peter-wolf lingers close, laying in the grass in front of the cabin. And Stiles … Well, Stiles first doesn’t really know what to do. 

He investigates the cabin a bit more and can’t help himself, when he finds an ajar door too a room he hasn’t noticed yet, he has to peek inside. He sees a lot of boxes. Filled with books. That sight alone is enough to make him open the door. He can’t resist books. 

The room is spare. Sunbeams fall through the half-closed curtains and reveal layers of dust on the window sill, the bed sheets and the wooden floor. It doesn’t look like anyone has used the bed. Maybe it’s Peter’s room, Stiles muses. If he would actually use it. 

Stiles runs his fingers over some of the books in the boxes and reads the titles printed on their backs. That’s it. He totally has to read a few. Or all of them. The books are about supernatural creatures, magic, rituals and wolves. It’s practically a goldmine. Stiles crouches beside the box and pulls a thick book about wolf pack behavior out, almost sneezing when dust flies off it. He opens it and starts to read, already feeling himself getting lost in the letters. 

He is so focused, he doesn’t even notice the click of claws approaching, until warm breath hits his neck. Stiles yelps and jumps, the book falling to the floor with a thud. Peter-wolf huffs and stares at Stiles, who tries to catch his breath and make his heart stop racing. “Oh my … You can’t do that to me! I … You almost gave me a heart attack!” Stiles groans, glaring at the wolf who, after another moment of indifferent staring, stretches his neck to give Stiles’ face a single lick. “Ew! Don’t do that either!” Stiles complains, making a face. 

Peter-wolf wags his tail and sniffs at the book on the floor. 

Stiles scratches his neck. “Oh, yeah. Uh, I kind of guessed this is your room? And most probably your books, right? I hope you don’t mind if I read them?” 

Peter-wolf carefully picks up the book, his fangs not even leaving an imprint, and lays it in Stiles’ lap. Stiles blinks. “Uh. Thanks,” he says carefully. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Peter-wolf huffs and leaves, pressing against Stiles’ briefly. Stiles looks after him, then back down at the book, and decides to follow the wolf. He can read on the porch with Cora. Then, he’ll not be completely alone.  
  


* * *

Cora looks up when Stiles approaches with the book under his arm, whistling. “Are you allowed to take those? Peter can get really uncomfortable when someone is touching his precious books,” she says. 

“He kind of gave me permission, I think?” Stiles says, sitting down opposite her. 

Cora considers him for a moment, before she smirks and glances at Peter-wolf, who is lounging in the grass again, stretched out and apparently trying to catch as many sunbeams as possible. “He must really like you, then.” 

Stiles shrugs and chuckles. “I don’t think so. The last time I have seen him human, he called me a ‘horribly eloquent pain in the ass’ and ‘too smart for my own good’.” 

Cora’s lips twitch. “I’m sorry, Stiles, but that’s Peter’s way to tell someone he likes them.” 

Stiles feels his jaw drop and for a moment, he’s at loss for words. Cora just chuckles. “Relax. I can see why he likes you, to be honest. At least, you try to understand everything, not only what you see on the surface. You try hard to act polite in a wolf way and that’s worth a lot, Stiles, honestly.” 

Stiles feels his chest warming up with her words, but he still doesn’t know what to say. But maybe, he doesn’t have to say anything at all.

Cora looks back down at her own book and sighs. “I’m glad he interacts with someone. Otherwise, Derek would probably freak out even more.”

“I don’t understand, why Derek is so worried. Peter looks pretty happy to me like this,” Stiles says, watching as Peter-wolf shoves his nose into a heap of leaves and sneezes, making the leaves fly up and float down again. 

Cora shrugs. “I guess Derek is scared he will take off one day and not return, you know? We are the only family my brother has left. He just wants to have us around, now that we act like a proper family at least most of the time. He has missed that.”  
  
“I get that.” Stiles thinks back to when Derek was living in the burned out Hale house, all alone. He had to constantly smell the smoke. The ash. And the house was broken. It must have been awful in the cold, or in the rain, when wetness creeped through the fissured ceilings. By now, Stiles is sure Derek did that to punish himself. Which makes everything so much worse. 

_We all carry our own suitcase filled with trauma_ , Stiles thinks bitterly. And everyone deals with it in a different way. He isn’t sure if any of these ways are healthy or will lead to anything else than a sudden burst of posttraumatic stress. 

Stiles’ thoughts are interrupted when a chocolate brown wolf steps on the porch, shaking out his fur. Cora doesn’t even look up. 

“Oh my, it is another big bad wolf,” Stiles quips, grinning. He thinks Derek’s wolf is just as stunning and impressive as Peter’s. 

Derek-wolf brushes his leg when he moves past them, glancing up at Stiles briefly, huffing. He looks annoyed and so Derek-like, Stiles has to hold back a remark. He watches as Derek-wolf pads over to Peter-wolf and drops beside him, taking the other wolf’s snout between his fangs, growling in the back of his throat. 

Stiles frowns. He totally has to hurry up with reading the books about wolf behavior, he doesn’t understand enough of the body language going on here. When Peter-wolf growls back at Derek-wolf and slaps him with a paw, Stiles asks Cora, just to be sure. “They are not arguing, are they?” 

Cora briefly looks up from her book, glances at the wolves and shakes her head. “Nah. Arguing would look and sound very different, trust me.” She focuses back on the page she’s on, murmuring, “Please don’t ask me to translate.” 

Stiles chuckles. By now, Derek-wolf has let go of Peter-wolf’s nose and instead nuzzles his neck, so he guesses they are good. In their own wolfy way. He opens his own book and focuses on the words. 

  
  


* * *

It happens in the shower. One of the few places it hasn’t really happened before. 

One moment, Stiles enjoys the stream of hot water on his skin, washing his hair with the almond shampoo he found in the bathroom - the other, he feels a dreadful sensation he knows all too well. The slowly building feeling of utter wrongness. 

Like usually, he tries to fight it in the beginning. Tries to tell himself that it’s nothing. He’s fine. He’s just taking a shower and after, he will eat Cora’s lasagna, probably read some more and go to bed, hopefully with Peter-wolf warming his feet. Nothing is wrong. Nothing can be wrong. He’s fine …

It doesn’t work. 

As soon as he stumbles out of the shower and wraps himself in a towel, it hits Stiles with full force. 

The fear rushes through him like waves. With a whimper, he goes to his knees and tries to breathe evenly. God … What if this isn’t real? What if the fear is right? What if … what if it is all a cruel illusion and he will wake up with more blood on his hands? With people suffering because of him? God. Allison. Allison is dead. And … and Aiden too, and … Oh God. So much pain. The darkness inside him attracted the Nogitsune and he couldn’t keep it from hurting everyone he cares about. It is his fault. Surely, if he was stronger, he could have stopped it. 

Stiles sobs. He can’t breathe.

Something is blocking his airway. Something … He dry-heaves, bending over and reaching for his throat with trembling fingers. Are there ten of them? Are there? He can’t look, he has to … God, he can’t breathe. 

Maybe, he is going to vomit bandages again. Maybe, there is still something left of it inside him. Maybe, the parasite planted something that is now ready to take over, take control, make him hurt someone else. 

_No. No, no, no … Please no._

Stiles whimpers. Then, his breath catches, because something cold nudges his forehead and there is a low whining. 

Stiles forces his eyes open. The wolf in front of him is blurry first, but his golden eyes are intense. Close and mosaic like. Peter-wolf nudges Stiles’ forehead again and comes even closer. 

Without thinking, Stiles reaches out with trembling hands. He wraps his arms around Peter-wolf’s neck and presses his face into the thick fur. Warm. So warm. The sensation causes Stiles to shudder and sigh. His body is still wet and trembling. And very naked. He is probably soaking the fur he is pressing against. 

Peter-wolf doesn’t seem to mind. He stays there, calm and solid. Warm. An anchor in the uncertainness. 

While running his fingers through the warm fur, Stiles feels the fear ebbing away slowly. His heart and breath calm down, the trembling comes to a halt. This is, in fact, real. It was just his mind, playing another trick. 

Peter-wolf nuzzles the crook of Stiles’ neck. There are no words, no questions - only silent yet persistent comfort. 

“Thank you,” Stiles sobs. “Thank you, thank you …”

Peter-wolf licks his cheek. 

* * *

The forest is beautiful. 

Late autumn changed the color of the leaves. Orange, red and light brown rains down on Stiles softly as he follows the narrow path he found a few days ago. It leads him along a little stream. The water jolts above a few stones and strokes overgrown plants, which float gently.

A breeze still carries a hint of summer’s warmth, but also already a promise of what is about to come. Winter isn’t far away. 

Stiles knows there is a clearing at the end of the path. He likes it, because it gives a view of the wide sky all of a sudden. The last time he’s been there, he has seen a few deers. It was lovely. 

He has been here for five days now. Not that long, but long enough to get used to the surroundings and learning to cherish the beautiful wilderness.

Peter-wolf follows Stiles on his walk like he has done the last few days as well. Sometimes, he disappears into the undergrowth, distracted by a smell or sound, but he always comes back, his paws making rustling and crunching noises on the leaves. Silent company. 

It is wonderful to have a walk like this. Stiles is not alone, but he doesn’t have to talk. When he is alone for a moment, he doesn’t feel scared or worried he will get lost. Peter-wolf would find him and guide him back. One day, he would have been surprised about this trust he feels towards the werewolf, but by now, he thinks he has already started to feel it when they spent time together while the others were away, doing their pack thing. 

Peter was left behind because no one else trusted him and Stiles was left behind because he was the human and therefore vulnerable. It was as simple as that. And when Stiles sat on the couch in Derek's loft, bickering with Peter or trying to beat him at chess, he realised he didn’t mind as much, as he once had thought he would. 

Stiles arrives on the clearing and takes some time to just enjoy the view here. It is still not so cold that it gets uncomfortable to be outside. The sky is a light blue, the sun weakened but still strong enough, making the leaves look bright. 

Stiles takes a deep breath. He feels at peace right now and wonders, if this is what healing feels like.  
  
Maybe.  
  
He guesses, there are a lot more things you’d have to do. Like actual talking. Therapy. And someday, he is going to do that. 

But for now, he is going to enjoy this. 

There is some rustling and then Peter-wolf appears between the trees, approaching fast. A blackbird discovers the wolf and chatters loudly, before flying away. 

It takes Stiles a moment to notice that Peter-wolf is carrying something. But when the wolf stops in front of him and drops his load, Stiles’ gasps in surprise. It is a whole rabbit. Peter-wolf brought him a dead rabbit.

“Uh,” Stiles makes, looking at Peter-wolf who sits and glances up at him like he is waiting for something, panting and wagging his tail through the leaves. 

“Thanks?” Stiles says carefully, staring at the rabbit. It feels like a present. It kind of feels nice, to know that Peter-wolf hunted something and thought he should bring it to Stiles. 

Peter-wolf huffs and presses against Stiles' legs for a moment, before taking off again, all but jumping away. 

“Well,” Stiles murmurs, “I have never eaten rabbit.” He shrugs and picks the dead animal up, making a face. At least, it is still in one piece.  
  


* * *

“Peter brought me a rabbit.” 

Derek immediately stops chopping wood. He turns his head and stares at Stiles, who raises the rabbit up by its ears and grins crookedly. 

“He brought you prey?” Derek asks and his eyebrows shoot up so far, they would have disappeared under Derek’s hair if it had been long enough.

“Uh. Yeah,” Stiles says carefully. “Why? Is there anything off about it?” 

Cora snickers from where she is cutting some apples. She throws a slice at Peter-wolf, who has just appeared, leaves caught in his fur. The wolf catches it and gulps it down, grinning at Cora toothily and rubbing against her legs. She makes a face. “You’re dirty. How about you jump into a river before coming here and making my jeans dirty too!” 

Derek frowns at Peter-wolf, who disappears into the cabin, and looks back at Stiles, who is still holding the dead rabbit, not knowing what to do with it. Derek sighs. “Give me that rabbit. I’m sure we can make something of it.”

“Maybe I should just give it back to Peter?” Stiles asks uncertainly. 

Cora snorts. “Nah. Don’t do that. It would terribly offend him.” 

Derek sighs and nods. He looks pained, somehow. “It would … We will cook it, okay?” 

Stiles frowns. “Why are you both so … I don’t know, but there is something you are not telling me.” 

Cora looks at Derek. “Are you going to tell him, or …?”

Derek groans, makes a vague hand gesture and picks up the axe again. 

Cora smirks. “So, you don’t know what it means if a werewolf brings you prey?” 

Stiles carefully shakes his head. He hasn’t read anything about that yet. If there is even anything. “I … I thought it’s just like normal wolf behaviour. Feed your pack and all.” 

Cora’s smirk gets wider. She looks way too cheerful for Stiles’ liking. “No. It’s courting behaviour.” 

Stiles chokes on his own breath. “It’s what?!” he gasps. 

“Courting,” Cora repeats brightly. 

Stiles stares between Cora and Derek, searching for a sign that they are joking. But they are both completely serious. Stiles has no idea what he is supposed to say, do or feel. “What … I … What does that mean?” he asks weakly, stumbling over his own words. 

“Either you court him back or you don’t react, and he’ll stop with time,” Cora says, shrugging. 

Stiles blinks. He looks at the rabbit that feels really heavy now. Just like his chest. 

Well. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I discovered this beautiful video about wolves and trauma and recovery, I put it here so you can enjoy it too :)  
> ["Living With Wolves Saved My Life - Video"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q8cdwwgr48w&t=75s)  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles freaks out. He goes to find a book about courting. Then he freaks out some more. 

He sits cross-legged on the floor in Peter’s dusty room, the open book in his lap, and chews on his lip, while turning the pages. 

There is no doubt that courting is exactly what Peter-wolf has in mind. He is trying to provide Stiles with food and warmth. He is trying to prove that he is able to provide for his potential mate. 

Mate. 

Yeah, that seems to be a thing. Werewolves do think of partners as their mate. And werewolves apparently mate for life. 

Werewolves mate. For life. Life. 

Stiles closes the book and blinks into the void for a few silent moments. 

He doesn’t understand. 

Why would Peter Hale want to mate for life with Stiles Stilinski?! It makes no sense. Stiles is just a bundle of lanky and pale limbs, his loose mouth and books the only defense he possesses. 

Peter is a born werewolf. He has claws and fangs and can shift into an actual wolf, which alone is so much cooler than anything Stiles could ever do. He is smart and ridiculously attractive. Also he is rich and possesses a library of books people would kill for, probably. 

Nope. Stiles doesn’t get it. 

Also … Does he even look at Peter like _this_? Sure, he likes Peter. Likes his company. Scott even complained a few times that he smelt too much like Peter. They get along way better than Stiles would have thought after the whole Alpha drama back then. Their conversations are pleasant and Peter never seems annoyed or overwhelmed by Stiles and his long, rushed info-dumps. 

Stiles feels … content, when he’s with Peter. He did consider them friends, though he never asked Peter about the nature of their relationship. Now, what the heck is he supposed to do with the fact that Peter’s wolf is trying to court him?! 

Stiles sighs and chews on his lip some more, although he can already taste a hint of iron. He thinks about Cora’s reaction to him being allowed to take Peter’s books. Thinks about _he must really like you then._ He thinks about how Peter-wolf always finds him when he feels anxious. How the wolf calms him when he has a panic attack or nightmare. There is definitely something warm in his chest when he thinks about all this … 

Still. There is still the fact that Peter is a wolf right now. Sure, under that he is the Peter Stiles knows. But that he is a wolf now, with whom Stiles can’t talk, can’t discuss the topic, is a huge problem. 

Right on cue, Peter-wolf pushes the door open with his nose and taps into the room. He brushes against Stiles’ shoulder with a low rumble and jumps on the bed, curling up and putting his head on his paws, one eye closing while the other idly blinks down at Stiles. 

“You know … I am kind of not sure how to deal with this,” Stiles tells him, closing the book. “We should … no, we _need_ to talk about it. About your gift and what they mean.” 

Peter-wolf huffs and closes both eyes. 

Stiles guesses that this is the only answer he will get right now. He sighs. Well, he can hardly force Peter to turn back and talk to him. All he can do is wait. And freak out a bit more … 

* * *

“Is Peter ever going to turn back to human?” Stiles asks Derek when they sit on the porch together. The werewolf is carving a piece of wood into the quite remarkable shape of an eagle. Derek raises his work in front of his eyes and turns it, looking at it from all sides, with a critical expression on his face. 

“I don’t know, Stiles. I really don’t know,” he says, apparently deeming the eagle not finished yet, because he takes his knife again and continues carving. 

“I really have to talk to him,” Stiles murmurs, restlessly kicking his feet into the air. “I have to talk to him about the courting. Cause I don’t get it.” 

Derek glances at him. “You can ignore it, if you don’t like it. He’ll stop.” 

Stiles frowns. The thought of ignoring Peter’s effort somehow really hurts him. “I think I can’t,” he says, biting his chapped lip. 

Derek sighs. 

“You could make him change back, right? You’re his Alpha,” Stiles muses. 

“I guess, I could,” Derek says slowly. “But I won’t. It would humiliate him.”

Stiles hums and chews on his lip. He stares at the mountains in the distance. Their tops are covered in snow. It is getting colder and colder every day. They might get snow too, soon. It’s in the air, already. He shivers slightly and wraps his jacket around himself tighter. “Look … I don’t want him to stop. I like the gifts. I, uh, I …”

“You like him,” Derek states, no surprise in his voice. “I can smell it, when he is close. When I first noticed, I wanted to warn you. But … things have changed. And it is your own decision what you do or not do. I won’t talk you into anything.”

Stiles blinks in surprise. He is at loss for words for a while. He just watches Derek carving his eagle. The Alpha seems content while doing this. In fact, he seems more content here than Stiles has ever seen him in Beacon Hills, and he wonders … 

“Derek,” he says carefully, “why exactly did you leave Beacon Hills?” 

Derek thinks for a moment. When he talks, his eyes remain glued to the wood in his hands. “I needed some distance to think. To look at things differently. I was full of rage and I was restless. My bonds weren’t stable. I didn’t manage to give my pack a feeling of security. That’s why I left. I wanted to go alone, first. But Cora insisted on coming with me. And Peter, well, you know why he's here." 

Stiles nods. He gets everything Derek said. But, it doesn’t feel like the whole story. “And that’s it?” he checks gently. 

Derek hesitates. The crease between his brows deepens a bit. Finally, he adds, “It was also because of Scott. Not because of the fact that he is there, that there is another Alpha - I would have been able to coexist with Scott and his pack - but … Well, for born werewolves it is not easy to live in the territory of an Alpha who doesn’t make an effort to protect it.” 

“Oh.” Stiles isn’t too surprised about Derek's revelations. Peter has talked about the risks Scott was taking with his behavior before. “So, Scott endangering the territory made you feel even more restless?” 

Derek nods. “Yes. Part of it is Peter’s fault of course. Scott had no one teaching him properly back then, when he turned. But the thing is … he could have learned about it by now. He could have read and educated himself, and he could have asked Peter. Peter knows more than anyone about pack dynamics and werewolf etiquette. He taught me and the other children of our family. I am sure if Scott would have asked him, he wouldn’t have said no. But Scott didn’t. Instead, he insists on doing everything his way and that’s dangerous. An Alpha should be open to the advise of his Betas and especially of his Left Hand. A pack needs someone who protects it. Who keeps an eye on threats. Peter has been doing that for our pack in the past, he wants to do it now too. It’s his instinct. But with Scott around, he can’t. Scott doesn’t know how strong our urges and instincts are, as born werewolves. And I don’t know if he even wants to understand,” Derek says, narrowing his eyes. "He has a lot to learn, but he doesn't see it."

Stiles sighs. “You should return and tell Scott all this. He has to learn. Otherwise, Beacon Hills is going to continue being a Beacon for power hungry Alphas and other not so peaceful supernatural creatures … I mean, it is your home, Derek. It has always been your home. You shouldn’t have to leave it to feel safe.”

Derek hums, looking at his eagle from all sides again and nodding. “Maybe, you are right. But … I am not ready yet to return. Neither are Cora and Peter, obviously. But you … You have to make your own decisions, Stiles. Peter marked you as pack and he is right of course, but you are free to go where you want, and do what you want.” 

I’m pack? Stiles wonders, feeling a hint of warmth spreading inside him at that thought. That … feels nice. He thought he would be still Scott’s pack, but now he wonders, if he could be in two packs at the same time, or change from one into the other. 

He wishes he could talk to Peter about this. 

* * *

Stiles is about to take a walk, when he sees Peter-wolf appearing between trees, pulling at something. 

“Holy …” Stiles breathes, when he realizes what it is. “Oh my … Derek!” 

Derek comes out of the house, frowning in concern, until he discovers Peter. The crease between his eyes deepens and he puts his hands on his hips. “Really?” he asks dryly.

Really. Peter-wolf is really dragging a whole female mule deer towards them. All alone. Stiles can see his muscles working.

“Are you not going to help him?” he asks the other werewolves timidly. 

“Nah. It’s his gift after all,” Cora giggles as she appears beside Derek, crossing her arms. 

“And who will have to do all the work, to make sure that deer doesn’t go to waste?” Derek mutters. “Who will gut, skin and cook it?!” 

Cora just grins. 

It takes Peter-wolf quite a while to drag the deer to Stiles, but he waits patiently. Everything else would be rude, right? Right. 

While watching, Stiles vaguely wonders what Peter’s gifts would look like if he was in his human form. He would probably - hopefully? - cook. Or find some fancy things, like bath products, since he wrinkled his nose when he saw Stiles’ favourite shampoo once. 

By the time Peter-wolf can finally drop the deer in front of Stiles, he is breathing heavily and his fur is matted with sweat. 

Stiles looks down at the dead animal. It’s ... impressive. Lean and muscular, with long legs and strong flanks. Its eyes are open and unseeing. There is blood in the matted fur at the deer’s neck and Stiles guesses that’s where the wolf killed it. 

Stiles notices that Peter-wolf is sitting beside his prey and staring up at him, like he is waiting for something. His muzzle is slightly open and he’s panting, frantic breath forming fog-clouds in the air. 

Stiles swallows heavily. “That’s … Thank you. Thanks for your gift.” 

Peter-wolf wags his tail wildly, making the leaves fly away in all directions. He grins up at Stiles with bloody fangs, obviously joyful about the fact that he pleased Stiles. 

Cora cackles in the background, but her eyes are filled with fondness. “That’s some impressive courting, Uncle Peter, I have to give you that,” she says and disappears into the house after a grumbling Derek. 

Stiles looks back at the wolf and sighs. “I appreciate your gifts. I really do. You know what I would appreciate even more? If you’d shift back to human so we can talk about them. About your gifts. And what they mean. That would be great.” 

Peter-wolf tilts his head, yawns and turns around to trot back towards the trees. 

Stiles is not surprised. He didn’t really expect Peter to just shift back immediately. 

He looks back down at the deer and sighs heavily. 

He can’t court a wolf, can he? 

* * *

Three silent days pass. 

Stiles mostly spends them reading and writing into the journal Cora has gifted him a few days ago. She said maybe it would help Stiles to write down his thoughts and feelings, like she is doing it once in a while. It does help more than Stiles thought it would. He feels less heavy after writing a few sentences down. At least, he doesn’t have another violent panic-attack, he only has to deal with a few waves of vague anxiety that are easy to fight down, and even his nightmares remain docile. 

Once, Stiles calls his Dad and assures him everything is alright. Derek tells him he can always invite the Sheriff, and Noah agrees to pass by the next week, when he’s free. 

One rainy afternoon, Cora shows Stiles how to bake chocolate chip cookies and they have a lot of fun, though Stiles makes a mess out of the kitchen and somehow manages to get flour all over himself. However, the cookies turn out to be delicious and even Derek, who is not much of a sweet tooth, eats three of them. 

Stiles saves a few cookies before they vanish and puts them into a box. He wants to give them to Peter. He is not sure if wolves can or should eat cookies, but then, Peter is not 100% a wolf, right? Still, it might be safer to wait for Peter to shift back. If he ever will, that is. 

Peter-wolf is not even there at the moment. He has been gone ever since he brought Stiles the deer. 

When Stiles mentions it to Cora, she shrugs. “Don’t worry. He’s probably following a trail and forgot about time,” she murmurs, frowning over her math exercises. 

Stiles tries to follow her advice and pushes the worry away. He reminds himself that Cora and Derek can feel Peter's bond and will know if something's too off.

He takes a walk in the woods alone, to clear his thoughts. 

It has rained the last day, and the earth is loose. The last leaves float from bare trees. The noise of a woodpecker searching for food echoes through the forest. 

When Stiles reaches his favourite clearing, he closes his eyes, breathing in the fresh, crisp air.

Leaves rustle and a branch cracks behind him. Stiles startles a bit and shakes his head in mild amusion, mixed with relief, because he thinks he knows who’s sneaking up on him. “Peter? Remember I told you time and time again, it is not funny to try to scare the shit out of me,” he grumbles. “And don’t you dare jump on my back again. I felt that for _days_.” 

He turns around and something does step out between the trees. But it’s not Peter-wolf. 

Stiles freezes. His insides seem to turn into icy water in the matter of a second. The hairs in his neck stand up. “Fuck,” he breathes. _I’m so fucked._

A snarling feral beast is standing right in front of Stiles. It resembles a wolf, but it looks like it didn’t shift completely, its body arched and legs too long. The narrowed eyes are gleaming red. Its black fur is patchy and dirty. 

Stiles knows exactly what he is dealing with. An Alpha without a pack, driven insane by whatever it experienced. It is like Peter was, before he died and came back. 

A vicious growl comes out of the beast's throat and Stiles’ heart seems to falter a beat. His stomach sinks. “Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit,” he whispers, taking a few stumbling steps back. “Fuck.” 

Gleaming wild eyes follow his every movement. The beast's ears twitch.

He can’t run from this wolf. Stiles knows that. It will be on him in seconds.

What is he supposed to do?! Oh God, either he is going to be bitten, or he is going to be one of these mangled victims of supposed animal attacks, whose cases are never totally solved, because the wounds they died from don’t look like the claws or teeth of a mountain lion at all! Jesus. Stiles doesn’t want to turn up dead in some morgue, doesn’t want his Dad to see him like this, knowing exactly what actually happened. Or maybe his Dad will suspect Peter and try to kill him. Oh God. _No_. That can't happen.

Stiles shakily reaches out for a thick branch he sees on the forest floor. It’s not a bat. Hell, it will probably shatter even faster than a bat, but it’s the only defense he will find out here. He raises the branch with trembling hands, gulping.  
  
The feral wolf snarls and crouches, preparing to attack. 

Before it can lunge, it is hit by a shadow and rolls over the ground with a surprised angry roar. 

The shadow moves to stand in front of Stiles, growling loudly. It’s Peter-wolf. Stiles thinks he has never been so relieved in his whole damn life. 

Peter-wolf's fangs are gritted and his eyes are glowing, the hairs at his neck bristled. Like this, he looks quite feral too, but there is control in his movements, when he circles the snarling beast, shielding Stiles from it. 

Stiles swallows in concern as he watches the two wolves glaring at each other. His heart is pounding in his chest. Peter-wolf looks small compared to the feral beast that now gets back on its paws, shakes his fur out and roars. Peter-wolf doesn't take a single step back.

Before Stiles can take another breath, the wolves meet in a heap of striking claws and snapping fangs, rolling over the forest floor and hitting trees while each tries to get the upper hand. It is terrifying to watch. It is terrifying to know he can’t do anything but watch and hope Peter won’t get killed. 

Stiles flinches when there is a whine and Peter-wolf flies, his back hitting a tree hard. The sight makes Stiles' breath falter. Peter-wolf slumps for a moment, shaking his head. The feral wolf snarls and prepares to attack again and Stiles almost steps in with his stupid branch, when suddenly, there’s another shadow pushing the beast back and away from Peter. 

A new, stronger wave of relief floods through Stiles, when he recognizes Derek-wolf. His eyes bleed red, and the feral wolf actually moves back a few slow steps, ducking his head. But it doesn’t flee. Instead, it seems to prepare to fight two werewolves at once. Which is not wise, but Stiles guesses, the feral wolf has not enough sense left for weighing his chances. 

A reluctant hint of pity hits him while watching the feral wolf. It has nothing left to lose. It probably had his pack killed off. Like Peter back then. No pack bonds, no backup. Is this feral Alpha driven by the urge for revenge too? 

Peter-wolf and Derek-wolf circle the feral wolf, growling threateningly. They all meet again. The feral wolf fights with desperation, just like Stiles expected. It manages to dig his claws into Derek-wolves back and he howls in pain, snapping at the beast. Peter-wolf buries his teeth in the feral Alpha’s neck and shakes his head, making the beast stumble back from Derek-wolf. 

There is a lot of blood and even Stiles can smell it. He shakes and feels like he can’t breathe. Something inside him clicks, when the feral wolf manages to shake Peter-wolf off, grips him with one of his strange deformed paws and smashes him against a tree again. “Stop,” Stiles breathes. It hurts. It hurts to watch this. An ache starts in Stiles’ stomach, steadily growing more painful. 

Derek-wolf jumps on the feral Alpha’s back, trying to get a better grip at its neck and the beast reaches for the werewolf, spitting and snarling. 

“Stop …,” Stiles says again, pressing both hands against his suddenly aching temples. He can’t watch this. Can’t see them getting hurt. His friends, his … _pack_. 

Peter-wolf gets up on shaky legs and glances at Stiles, panting. The feral wolf roars and turns towards Peter-wolf, baring its bloody fangs. 

A sharp wave of rage floods through Stiles. 

“STOP!” he yells. 

And … the world stops. 

The world stops. It simply explodes into blackness. 

* * *

When Stiles returns to reality, he lays on his back in leaves and dirt, blinking up at the sky. 

He can’t hear anything but a sharp ringing in his ears.

Someone bends over him, blurry face only slowly gaining contours. It’s Derek. He’s shifted and very naked, staring down at Stiles wide-eyed. He’s saying something, but Stiles can’t understand his words. 

It takes a long moment, until the ringing subdues and he can finally hear what Derek is saying. 

“Are you okay?” Derek asks breathlessly. There’s a splotch of red on his cheek. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles murmurs. He doesn’t feel fine. In fact, he feels like a truck has just hit him. But … whatever. He grimaces when Peter-wolf enters his field of vision and starts licking his face. Peter-wolf … Wait. What happened? The feral Alpha … The fight. What … 

Stiles slowly sits up and looks around. His breath falters. 

The forest floor around them looks … burned. The earth is black and completely cleared from leaves. Some of the trees are wearing strange wounds. Cracks in their bark. What the hell? 

Stiles rubs his eyes and looks at Derek, who stares at him with a strange expression on his face.

“Is this a dream?” Stiles asks, glancing down at his own hands. Five fingers on each hand. Ten fingers …

“No,” Derek says gently. “It’s not a dream.” 

Stiles swallows. “Where is the feral wolf?” 

Derek doesn’t answer. He just continues to look at Stiles like he is seeing something Stiles isn’t. 

And slowly, a realization arises. A strange and somber realization. But … the proof is there. It's all there.

“I … I did something,” Stiles states, his stomach sinking. He feels cold.

Derek nods. “Yes.” 

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. “Do ... do you know what ..."

“No.” Derek shakes his head. “No, Stiles. I don’t know. It was … It was like a bomb going off. A bomb of energy. The feral Alpha? It’s gone.” 

Stiles’ eyes widen. Somehow, he knows exactly that with "gone", Derek doesn't mean it just gave up and left. He starts to feel like he is falling. He is falling and never landing. Oh God. He bends over and groans when it’s getting really hard for him to breathe. Peter-wolf, who was busy licking his injuries, perks up and stares at Stiles. 

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit! What did I do?! What was that?! Oh my ... I think I am going to have a panick attack!” Stiles rambles, pressing a shaking hand against his forehead. Peter-wolf whines and noses at Stiles’ face, licking his cheek. It does nothing to calm Stiles down. Not this time. What the fuck?! What the fuck did he do? And why?! Is he still … Oh God, what if the Nogitsune is still there? What if it's all just one big horrible foxy trick?!

Derek looks down at Stiles worriedly, then he glares at Peter-wolf, narrowing his eyes. “You have to shift back.” 

Peter-wolf stares up at him and whines, turning back to his healing injuries and nosing at them. 

Derek growls. Stiles shortly forgets about himself and flinches when the Alpha grips Peter-wolf by the scruff and flashes red eyes at him, yelling now, “Shift back!” 

“I ... I don’t think that’s going to work, Derek,” Stiles says carefully, worry stirring inside him despite the fear. 

Derek doesn’t listen to him. He continues yelling. “I fucking need you! Stiles needs you! You told me this could happen! Why the fuck can’t you just turn back and talk to us! Help us!” 

He stops, breathing heavily. Then, Peter-wolf growls and snaps at Derek’s hand until the Alpha lets go. The wolf runs away, disappearing in the undergrowth. 

Derek sighs and closes his eyes, massaging his temples with his fingers. "Fuck," he mutters.

“Told you so,” Stiles says weakly. A sudden wave of nausea hits him and he turns away, vomiting onto the forest floor weakly, under Derek’s worried and desperate gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this stressful chapter, here is a cute short video of a snuggly wolf :) 
> 
> ["Snuggly Wolf"](https://babyfoxcollectionthings.tumblr.com/post/632780828091498497)  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

Peter likes his apartment. He likes to have something that feels like a safe haven in this cursed village. 

Contrary to most werewolves, Peter has never enjoyed sharing everything in his life with packmates. He always wanted to have some personal space. It was one of the many things Talia had been arguing about with him. She didn’t want to let him go and have his own place first. But in the end, she gave in, mostly because Peter threatened to find an Alpha to kill and become his own boss. She thought he was stubborn and crazy enough to do something like that - everyone thought so - and gruffly let him rent a little flat. In the end, that flat was what made Peter survive the fire. He hadn't been in the house when it started, he drove to it from his own place. 

Now, he has his own apartment again, only joining the ragtag group he has to call pack now at meetings and when his wolf is so desperate for bonding, he can barely stand it.

The only people who know where his apartment is are Derek and Cora. Derek even has a key, just for emergencies. For some unknown reason, Stiles knows the location too. He appeared there one day, grinning up at Peter and showing him a list of questions about Kelpies and Harpies. Peter wasn’t surprised. Not really. He also wouldn’t be surprised if Stiles told him he already had a key to Peter’s apartment. And he finds he doesn’t really mind. He likes Stiles. Has always liked him. For some weird reason, Stiles never smells of rejection, so apparently, he doesn’t mind Peter's presence either.

Peter’s neighbour in the apartment building is a single mother with a six-year old mute boy. Anna and Max. They are kind of nice. Definitely the more bearable kind of humans. But Peter can’t stand their dog. It is a little, angry Chihuahua that always barks frantically at Peter, until it’s out of breath and apparently close to a heart attack. Thankfully, it takes only one subvocal growl to shut the dog-rat up. 

Peter fixed Anna’s dishwasher once and she gives him biscuits or pie in return now and then. She always sends Max for that and the boy smiles brightly when Peter opens the door. After the first time that had happened, Peter learned how to sign “hello” and “thank you”. The boy’s eyes widened in surprise, then he gave Peter a wide grin, missing some teeth. It was kind of charming. 

Anna even asked him if he could babysit Max sometime. Peter agreed carefully. Maybe, he muses, they think he is lonely. Well. They are not exactly wrong. He isn't really interacting with anyone right now. 

Derek and Cora moved to some cabin in the woods. Derek said it’s for a break, for some distance and clarity. He asked Peter if he wanted to come too. It wasn’t just out of courtesy, Peter could tell from Derek’s sincere tone, but he still said no. He didn’t want to leave the safety of his apartment. Even though he gets along better with Derek - and Cora too - now, he doesn’t feel like spending so much time with them, acting like they are a normal family. Cause they are not. 

Stiles hasn’t showed up ever since he got rid of the parasitic fox demon. Peter figures he needs some time to process and he doesn’t want to be obtrusive, although he quite misses having the boy here. At least, Stiles appreciates Peter’s knowledge, respects his boundaries when it comes to his books and is a passable chess player. 

Chris Argent took Isaac to Paris. Scott is hiding in his house, which is understandable but also problematic. However, Peter certainly won’t go to tell Scott why it would be better to show some presence, as the Alpha of the territory. He has long given up to try to offer his advice to Scott. It clearly isn’t wanted. 

Instead, Peter spends the endless amount of free time with things he hasn’t been able to do when he was in a coma for six years. He catches up with movies, music, sports and Apps. He takes care of plants and translates some of his older books into English. Sometimes, he feels a pull in his chest that might be a hint of loneliness or craving, but he pushes that away. He doesn’t need anyone. He’s fine. 

He’s managing. 

* * *

Peter wakes up in the middle of the night because he smells - 

Smoke.

He smells smoke. 

Peter freezes. His wolf whines in alarm. 

He forces himself to move, trying to ignore how weak his legs feel. He gets out of bed and sniffs. The smell doesn’t come from his own apartment. The scent trail leads into the hallway, to some other apartment. But it is close. Too close. 

Close enough to make his heart beat faster in a first hint of familiar panic. 

Peter stands in the middle of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. He is fighting the urge to just run away. He has to think, he has to - He winces and snarls when a smoke detector starts to beep urgently. The noise is ear-pitching. It makes it even harder to think. 

The wolf crawls at his mental walls. The urge to run is overwhelming now. He can’t fight it any longer. has to get out of here. 

Peter opens the door at the exact moment his neighbour Anna does, cradling a sleepy and confused Max in her arms. Max is holding their dog, which is whining instead of barking for once. Anna looks at Peter with wide eyes. “Do you know where it’s coming from?” 

Peter just shakes his head. He can’t form any coherent words right now. He tries to take a deep breath, but only inhales more smoke-filled air this way. It brings a rush of unwanted memories. They overflow his mind. 

_The smell of smoke getting more intense the closer he drives to the house. A feeling of surreality. This can't be happening. The house can't be on - it is. The house is on fire. And over the roaring of flames, there are screams of panic, screams for help ...  
_

Peter clenches his hands into fists, feeling how his claws dig into his own flesh. He can already feel the prick of fangs. The urge to shift is overwhelming.

Anna eyes him and adjusts her grip around her son. “Are you alright?” she asks timidly. 

Peter wants to say _yes of course_. But his teeth are gritted together too firmly and his jaw is tense. The smoke detectors are still shrieking and the smell of smoke gets thicker. It mingles with the scent of melting plastic. There are nervous voices mingling together somewhere down the hallway. Too much. It’s way too much. 

Peter briefly closes his eyes. Get a grip! he tells himself and his whining wolf. He can’t lose it now. Not in a hallway full of humans. But he can’t avoid inhaling the smoke and that alone causes flashes of what happened in the basement. What happened when he arrived and saw the house in flames. When he ran inside, right into flames, smoke, screams … 

_He can’t breathe. He can’t get to his family. He can’t save them. He can’t. They are dying. They are dying right in front of him …_

Peter flinches when cool fingers touch his wrist and close around it gently. He opens his eyes and sees Anna standing right in front of him. “Let’s go downstairs together,” she suggests, her voice calm, but her eyes filled with worry. 

Peter realizes he must look like he is about to freak out. He nods and follows Anna towards the stairs. It is not that far, but it feels like ages until they reach the exit and go outside, stepping into fresh air. A lot of people are already outside and stare up, where flames are pouring out of a window. Peter tries not to look at it. 

Sirens approach. Another trigger. 

_He is pulled out of the house by firefighters and no, he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay, wants to lay down and die with his family. There can’t be anything after this. No … He fights them, at least he tries, but he was weakened by the smoke inhalation and the fire burning half his body while he tried to get through the mountain ash. It hurts. It hurts so much. But the destroyed packbonds hurt more than his injuries. He wants to scream. But he can’t even do this …_

Peter groans. The world sways for a moment and he turns away from Anna, leaning against a wall, taking some deep breaths. 

There are still traces of smoke in the air, but they are faint now. Peter feels floaty. He hasn’t felt like this for a long time. He is balancing on the thin edge between reality and memories, one step away from falling into the pit of a flashback that might make him snap. He has to get away from humans. Has to get away from _here_. 

Anna carefully rubs his back and Peter looks at her, seeing Max peeking over Anna’s shoulder worriedly. Okay?, he signs with his little fingers. Okay, Peter signs back, smiling weakly and hoping, it doesn’t look like a grimace. 

Anna shakes her head. “I think you are having a panic attack. Maybe you should go to one of the ambulances and let them check you out,” she suggests carefully. 

Peter shivers at the mention of ambulance. At the thought of strangers, touching him. “No. No, I’m fine. I just … I had some, uh, bad experiences with fire in the past,” he admits. 

That’s such an understatement, Peter almost starts to laugh hysterically. Maybe, Anna reads it in his eyes. “My aunt’s house burned once. She had to climb out of a window,” she says quietly, running a hand through her son’s hair. “Fire is scary when it isn’t controllable. It’s no shame to be scared of it.” 

Peter just nods. His throat feels too tight for words. 

They watch as the firemen rush into the building. The lights from the cars are flashing over the walls. Red and blue. 

Peter swallows, already feeling a new flashback coming up. “I think I have to leave. I … I am going to take a walk,” he says, turning away. 

“Okay,” Anna says, looking after him and running fingers through Max’ curly hair. 

Peter doesn’t look back. He just keeps walking, letting the wolf take over and lead him away from everything. 

* * *

Peter doesn’t know how long he has been walking, when he finds himself in the middle of the forest.

He leans against a tree, taking some deep breaths of the fresh - clean - night air. His wolf is still whining and he thinks he can feel the itch of the scars he’s once been carrying under his skin. Involuntarily, he reaches up, running his fingers over his face, just to be sure. 

Peter realizes he can’t go back there. Not today. Maybe not for a while. He just can’t. 

He thinks about his options, then hesitates. He doesn’t like the thought of showing vulnerability. But he can’t tell Derek a lie. He has to tell him the truth. And the truth is going to make him look weak. He hates to look weak. It is not who he is. Who he is supposed to be. 

Peter still pulls out his phone and dials the number he needs. He listens to the beeping noise, shivering when he thinks back to the noise of the smoke detectors. It is still echoing in his ears. 

“Peter?” Derek sounds surprised when he picks up. Of course. It’s the middle of the night after all. 

“Derek. I need a favour,” Peter says and already feels the bitter bite of shame. 

There is a short pause. Then, “Are you alright?” And God, Derek sounds _worried_. 

Peter briefly closes his eyes. He wants this to be over already. He guesses there is something subvocal in his voice Derek can read. Great. Just great. He takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah. I’m fine. There ... was a fire at the apartment building.” 

Derek’s breath hitches.

Peter is still occupied with trying to find a better explanation than _I freaked out, the wolf took control and now I am in the middle of the forest_ , when Derek asks, “Where are you?” 

Peter is relieved he doesn’t have to talk about the whole running away thing. “I don’t know. The wolf took over. Somewhere in the forest.” 

There is a pause. Then, Derek says, “I’m going to find you. Stay where you are.” And he hangs up. 

Peter wrinkles his nose, stares at the phone like it is cursed and puts it away. He sits down on the forest floor to wait and tries desperately to keep the memories at bay, that want to rise up to the surface of his mind all at once. 

* * *

Derek comes with Cora. They don’t talk much and Peter is grateful for that. They just lead him to Derek’s car. 

Derek asks him if he wants to stay at the cabin for a while and Peter just nods in defeat.

They drive to the apartment building to get some of his things and Peter will definitely get them on his own. At least he intends to do so. He gets out of the car, takes one whiff of the air and - nope - he slips back on his seat and closes the door, looking down at his feet, his face burning. He can’t do this. 

This is so pathetic.

Derek and Cora enter the apartment building while Peter stays in the car. They only fetch some of his clothes and important toiletries for now and return with them, wordlessly getting back in the car.

The drive to the cabin is long. Peter avoids talking with his niece and nephew. He just stares out of the window, trying to think nothing. Once, he falls asleep - without wanting it - and wakes up with a gasp, the echo of smoke, flames, ash still raging through his mind. He shivers and looks up, right into Cora’s attentive eyes. Peter quickly looks away again, angry at himself for allowing himself such a moment of weakness. 

“Maybe you should talk to someone, uncle Peter,” Cora eventually says, glancing at him. “Derek and I have been talking. And it really helped, I ...”

“No thank you,” Peter snaps. ”I am happy you two could benefit from your self-inflicted family therapy, but I don’t want to be part of it.” 

Cora shrugs and falls silent. 

They reach the cabin in the early morning hours and Derek has to wake a dozing Cora up. Peter actually likes Derek’s choice. It is a remote and peaceful area, surrounded by woods and mountains. And most importantly, the air is clean.

In the cabin, Derek shows him a whole empty room and Peter realizes it has been supposed to be his the whole time. Something warm stirs in his chest. 

“I can get your other things, if you want them,” Derek says. “I have some boxes.” 

“The books would be nice,” Peter grumbles. He hates the thought of them being so far away and without supervision. 

“Okay,” Derek says. He hesitates, then leans in for a brief gesture of scenting. Peter is surprised, but he lets it happen, rubbing his cheek against Derek’s for a short moment. Derek looks at him like he is about to say something, but then he doesn’t and just leaves. 

Peter looks after him, feeling incredibly exhausted.  
  


* * *

  
The mountain ash barrier won’t yield. No matter how hard Peter rams against it. He sobs with the desperation, barely feeling the flames that lick at his arm. He has to get through. He has to save them, he has to …

Peter freezes, when Talia appears right in front of him, red eyes reflecting the flames. Her hair is burning at the ends. “Why didn’t you save us?” she hisses. “You’re useless. You’ve always been useless. Everything you touch turns to ash.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter breathes. He looks at the pup he suddenly has in his arms. Leah. His two-year old niece. She isn’t breathing. God. She is so _small_. “I’m sorry … I tried, I really tried!” 

The flames rage louder and the house sways. Peter sinks to his knees and weeps. It is over … 

Someone is screaming.

Peter wakes up abruptly, sitting up in bed and staring into the void, barely even noticing that it is him who is screaming. He is screaming his own throat sore. And he can’t stop. 

He screams until Derek stumbles into the room, wide-eyed and saying something Peter can’t understand. His whole being is overflown by the images of his dream, his memories of the fire and the fresh impressions of the smoke filled hallway at the apartment building. They mingle together and … 

It is too much. He wants it to stop. He can’t deal with this. Not with this. No. 

Something inside Peter just … snaps. 

The wolf comes forward and takes over. The shift is not smooth. It is violent and it hurts. 

First, Peter fights it. Because this feels hauntingly close to the last time he shifted without wanting it, but after a moment, he stops resisting and gives in. The wolf doesn’t drown in memories, thoughts, fears and self-hatred. He just wants to run. Wants to run away from it all. 

Derek is still talking but Peter doesn’t understand. He is in his wolf form and he has one last coherent frantic thought of _please don’t make me shift back_ , before he allows his thoughts to slip back, allowing them to be overwritten by the wolf’s instincts. 

The wolf pushes past Derek and runs downstairs, heading towards the door. It is closed. Peter’s wolf doesn’t have a problem with that. He has been forced to open doors in this form before. It takes him seconds. 

The wolf runs outside and towards the wood, not caring about the _where_. He just wants to run. So he runs. 

* * *

Days pass. The leaves are changing their color and the forest is full of life. 

The wolf is content. It is a good time for hunting. Trails are easy to find and track in the loose earth. He could easily provide for his pack of three. But for some reason, his Alpha doesn’t like it when he brings prey to the cabin, so the wolf stops doing it, occasionally hunting a rabbit for himself instead. 

When he isn’t hunting, he is taking care of the borders of their territory, marking and patrolling them. There are no other predators around and the wolf intends to keep it that way. He is going to keep his pack safe like he is supposed to. 

Now and then the wolf returns to the cabin, seeking contact with his packmates. His Alpha is usually smelling of a combination of anger, worry and disappointment. But he is still allowing the wolf to scent him. Sometimes, the Alpha shifts too. It is way easier to groom him that way. The smell of anger doesn’t disappear though. 

Somewhere inside him, the wolf knows his Alpha wants him to change. Change back to human. But the human is unstable, weak and not in a state to protect the pack. The wolf is. He is going to protect the pack. 

One day, the wolf returns to the cabin and there is a new scent. He knows that scent. It is connected to an image and even a bond. The wolf follows the scent trail to a room and opens the door. There is a heartbeat and a breath. A body on the bed. It’s a human, but also not. Not completely. 

“Hey, Peter,” the human says, showing his teeth in an unthreatening, friendly way. The wolf wags his tail at the sound of the familiar voice. 

The human inside the wolf stirs. He knows the boy's name. _Stiles._ The human likes Stiles. The wolf does too. Stiles is pack. Pack needs to be protected. Stiles smells anxious and sad. So the wolf tries to comfort him. And when Stiles starts to talk, Peter hears him. He pushes forward for the first time in weeks, listening. 

Always listening. 

* * *

Stiles went through something horrible and he is trying to process it. He takes long walks in the forest and the wolf follows him, taking care the human is safe. He finds Stiles with ease, no matter which path the boy chooses to take. 

When Stiles notices him, he just smiles and doesn’t send him away. He doesn’t smell of rejection, so the wolf stays and walks with him. Sometimes, Stiles is silent for a long while, apparently lost in his thoughts. Other times, the words spill out of the human, like he can’t stop. It all bursts out of him. Sometimes, he starts to cry. 

More than once, Stiles tells him it would be nice to talk to him. Really talk to him. 

Peter hears it and a part of him wants to do it. Wants to shift back to human and talk to Stiles. But he can’t. He doesn’t have the energy to try. He isn’t brave enough to face what it means to be human. Isn’t brave enough to face the baggage he is carrying around with him. 

He just hopes, what he can do in this form is enough to help Stiles. He finds the boy when he has one of the panic attacks and comforts him. It feels good when Stiles wraps his arms around him. It feels good to be so close. 

The wolf feels content in Stiles’ presence. Exactly like it did before what happened with the fox demon. The wolf is glad when he can make Stiles smile, when the boy starts to smell happier around him. 

With time, an urge rises inside him. An urge he hasn’t felt for a long time. The urge to prove his worth to a potential mate. The urge to court. 

So the wolf starts to hunt for Stiles. He brings prey to the human and when Stiles accepts it, the wolf vibrates with joy. 

In his rare concsious moments, Peter is aware this is stupid. Furtive. The courting can’t be successful. And it shouldn't be. Stiles deserves someone better. 

But the wolf disagrees, and goes to find something bigger, something to impress his potential mate. 

* * *

Stiles is in danger. 

The wolf runs as fast as he can, feeling the bond vibrating with fear and desperation. Stiles is in danger.

When he finds Stiles, a huge wolf cowers in front of the boy, ready to attack. The wolf barely has the time to recognize it as a lonely half-insane Alpha, before he slams into the beast, shoving it away from Stiles.

The Alpha snarls and growls. Peter is aware and alarmed enough to think, _this isn’t good_. The Alpha is too strong for him alone. His only hope is that the rest of his pack will notice that Stiles and him are in danger, that they will come to help. 

The Alpha throws the wolf against a tree and for a moment, the world goes black. 

Stiles makes a frightened noise. 

It hurts. The wolf growls and tries to heave his aching body up, but the rogue Alpha is fast. It approaches him roaring, ready to tear him apart. Then, Derek is suddenly there, pushing the Alpha away in his wolf form, eyes gleaming crimson. Peter is relieved. 

The fight is bloody. The rogue Alpha fights with the desperation of someone who has nothing to lose - I know that feeling, Peter thinks absently. I know how it feels to have nothing and no one …

The Alpha manages to make both Derek and Peter bleed. It is a mess.

Then, Stiles suddenly screams “Stop!” and the world explodes. 

Peter is shoved backwards by something strong - _energy_ \- and is stopped by a tree. The impact numbs him for a brief moment, and when the world stops swaying, he sees Stiles laying on his back, not moving. The wolf whines in distress and scrambles to get to the human - mate! - to make sure he is okay. 

Derek is faster. He is back in his human form and bends over Stiles, frowning. 

The rogue Alpha is nowhere to be seen. 

Stiles smells scared and confused. He is hyperventilating. The wolf wants to calm him down, but it isn’t working. Something about Stiles is different. He smells wrong. 

The wolf wants to tend to his injuries, but then Derek, his Alpha, yells at him. He reaches out to shake the wolf. His grip is firm and it makes the wolf recoil, makes him both wanting to show his belly and to snap at the other wolf daring to humiliate him like this. In the end, he just frees himself and runs away, confused and hurt. 

He hears Cora calling out for him from somewhere, but he turns away from her too. 

* * *

After running for a few miles, Peter stops the wolf. 

There is a short battle of wills. 

In the end, Peter manages to overpower the wolf and start thinking again. He paces the clearing he found himself on and growls in distress. 

Stiles … 

He has to get back to Stiles. Has to help him. But he can’t help him in this form. Can’t tell him it will be alright. 

Peter makes a decision. He might regret it later, but right now, it is the only thing he can do. He shifts back. 

It is not easy. After being the wolf for so long - longer than ever before - it is hard to find what it needs to become human again. And it hurts. He can hear himself whining, then suddenly cursing, when his skin comes back and he suddenly has hands instead of paws. He stares at them, breathing heavily. 

For a long moment, he just lays in the grass, naked and heaving, staring up at the sky. He is so exhausted. He could fall asleep right here, right now.

But he knows he can’t stay on the clearing forever. He has to go back to Stiles. 

Peter scrambles to get up. It feels strange to stand on two feet instead of four. His legs wobble underneath him and he has to support himself against a tree for a moment. 

He takes a deep breath and starts walking.

Back to the cabin. Back to Stiles. 

* * *

Cora is the first who sees him. She is sitting on the bench on the porch, eating biscuits. 

“Stiles is in his room. He is upset. Really upset,” she tells him, not even saying anything about his sudden shift back to human. 

Peter just nods and makes his way into the cabin, paying his own room a short visit to dress himself, and then going to Stiles’ room, relieved that Derek is nowhere to be seen. His first priority now is Stiles. 

The boy is laying on the bed on his stomach, his face buried in a pillow. He smells distressed. 

Peter makes his way through the dark room and clears his throat. “Stiles.” His voice is hoarse. 

The boy flinches violently and raises his head, blinking into the darkness. “Peter?” he sniffs. “You’re human again? Or is this … is it just a hallucination?”

“No. It’s not,” Peter says, sitting on the chair beside the bed. He clears his throat again, frowning at how raspy his voice sounds. It feels so strange to use it again. “How are you feeling?” 

Stiles laughs bitterly. “Like the universe is playing a sick game with me.” 

Peter smiles weakly. He can relate to that. Kind of. 

Stiles gets serious again very fast. He glances at Peter, swallowing heavily. “Listen, I don’t understand what I did. I … I don’t remember doing anything at all. I just screamed stop and then ... I don’t understand. And I don’t know if I even want to understand. What if this is the Nogitsune? What if he is still in there? Watching me, laughing at me, waiting for a moment to come forward again? Or … what if I am bad now? What if there is something rotting inside of me ever since I’ve been possessed?” Stiles stops, slightly breathless. “I’m scared,” he admits, sounding small. “I’m scared.” 

“I know,” Peter says. The scent of fear is floating in the whole room. “You are not bad, Stiles. And there is nothing rotting inside of you. There is also no Nogitsune still possessing you. I would be able to sense it.” 

Stiles sniffs. “Okay. So, what’s wrong with me?” 

“Nothing. You are yourself. You just … kind of unlocked a part of yourself you haven’t been able to see yet,” Peter says and smiles. 

Stiles scrunches his nose. “Peter … I don’t understand. Look, I’m really glad you are back and I can talk to you, I’m really fucking glad to see you, but please, just tell me what’s going on, without any ambiguities. I’m terrified.” 

Peter nods. He understands. “Alright. Stiles … You are a spark.” 

Stiles frowns. “What’s a spark?” 

“A very rare kind of being, able to use magic. Sometimes, sparks are never even discovered, because the magic sleeps inside of them and doesn’t wake up. I have had suspicions you might be a spark for a long time now. You are human. But a part of you is more than that. And it comes from your mother’s side of the family,” Peter explains. 

Stiles blinks. “Magic. I can use magic? What kind of magic? And wait, from my mother’s side of the family? Was someone in my family a spark too? What the hell?!” 

Peter nods. “Yes. Your grandmother was a spark too. I only found out about this lately. It was one of the memories blocked by Talia. You can use magic, it has been sleeping inside of you, always lingering under the surface. The Nogitsune must have woken the spark of magic up, but after it left your body, there still was a block. When you saw us fighting the Alpha, when your pack was threatened, you felt strong emotions and they burst out of you, freeing the magic. You should be able to feel it now.” 

Stiles exhales shakily. He looks at his hands, frowning. “I think so. It feels like there are bees, buzzing under my skin. God … I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel about this. Or if I want this. It was scary and I think I killed that Alpha with whatever came out of me. How am I supposed to control this?” 

“There are people who can teach you. Shamans, druids …” 

“It felt dark,” Stiles interrupts Peter, still smelling of fear. He shivers visibly, his eyes filling with despair. “It felt dark. I … I don’t want to have something that dangerous. When I was dangerous, horrible things happened …” Stiles sobs and his breath ticks up, until it sounds like he is about to hyperventilate. 

Peter reaches out to gently touch Stiles’ arm. “Stiles. Calm down. Breathe. You don’t have to be scared. It is a part of you. It is supposed to be inside of you. You will be able to control it. And there is no black or white, no good or bad. There are only different shades of grey, depending on the choices you make. You can choose what you use this for. You can use it to protect. Like you protected Derek and me.” 

Stiles looks up at him wide-eyed, but he calms down, nodding timidly. “Okay. God. Okay … I think I have to process this. I … It’s a lot.”  
  
Peter nods and gets up. “You should sleep. We can talk more about this in the morning.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles whispers, slowly laying back against the pillows. “Yeah … Thanks, Peter. It was good to talk to you.” 

Peter smiles. “I feel the same. I’m sorry it took me so long.” 

Stiles looks up at him and shakes his head. “You don’t have to be sorry. You took your time. And you had every right to do so. You … you know you can talk to me too, right? If something bothers you?” 

Peter hesitates. “Thank you, Stiles. But I am fine.” A voice inside his mind whispers, _you should be glad he can’t sense a lie. Yet. Who knows how powerful he is going to be …_ Peter pushes the voice away. He turns around and goes to leave the room. 

Stiles’ voice holds him back one last time. “Peter … The courting gifts. I, uh, I …”

Peter’s chest tightens. He doesn’t turn to face Stiles when he says, “It’s fine, Stiles. I am aware it’s been … inappropriate. My wolf doesn’t care about gender, age or anything else. He just acts on his instincts. You don’t have to react to it. I am not going to continue, of course. You are still a minor and I am … Well, you deserve better.” 

He can’t say more. His throat feels dry and the words taste bitter. So he leaves. 

Peter thinks he can hear Stiles breathe his name before he closes the door, but it might have been his imagination, playing tricks on him. 

His wolf whines and protests. Peter shuts him up. _I am in control now again_ , he thinks grimly. _And I am not going to destroy anything or anyone else ever again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone need another wolf snuggle video after this chapter? Here you go: 
> 
> ["More snuggly wolf"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXDPacET4cU)  
> 


	5. Chapter 5

Peter gently runs his fingers over the books in the boxes. He can’t wait to put them back into their shelves. Back to where they belong.

He is still reeling from the talk with Stiles, his wolf whining insistently, without doubt already mourning the failed courting. Well, he’s going to have to deal with it. Just like Peter has to.

It is going to be easier, once he is back at his apartment. Alone. Just like he has been before all of this. He still involuntarily shivers when he thinks back to the fire at the apartment building, but that’s been long ago. It is time to get a grip.

Peter opens the suitcase on the bed and is relieved to see no one has touched his clothes. At least, he won’t have to pack. He sits on the edge of the unused bed for a moment, dust flying up and floating in the dim air. 

He vaguely remembers that Stiles has been here a few times, reading. His scent is imprinted on the boxes, the books and even the floor. Peter inhales it and immediately, his senses start to sing, start to tell him to go and find his mate. Peter narrows his eyes and focuses on something else instead. Something that doesn’t make him feel like an idiot.

He hears steps approaching from downstairs and knows it is Derek before his nephew’s scent reaches him. Peter sighs and gets up, acting like he is inspecting the clothes in the suitcase when Derek steps into the room. This is going to be awkward.  
  
Derek breathes for a long moment. Finally, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cornered you like that.”

Peter knows what Derek is talking about. He shrugs. “It’s alright. I get where your frustration was coming from,” he mumbles, glancing at Derek, who is standing there rigidly, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.

Derek shouldn’t feel the need to apologize. After all, Talia did way more than grabbing him by the scruff and yelling at him. But it’s still … nice. Kind of.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks.

“I’m packing," Peter says curtly.

Another long moment of silence.

“I have to go back, Derek. Back to my apartment," Peter says, breaking it.

Derek shifts his weight. “Are you sure?” he asks, his frown deepening. For a moment, he reminds Peter of the boy he’s been once, the one Peter called a grumpy yeti sometimes.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Derek stares at him. For a moment, Peter expects him to object. To start an argument. But he doesn't. Instead, he nods. “Okay. I can drive you.”

Peter is relieved. He expected something else. “Thank you.”

Derek hums. “Do you know what’s up with Stiles?” he asks.  
  
“Yes. I already talked to him about it. He’s a spark, just like I told you.”

Derek nods like he expected this. “We can’t help him with that,” he says. “He is going to need a teacher.”

“I’m going to call a few contacts when I'm home,” Peter assures him, without looking up from his clothes. They don't have any wrinkles, but he still strokes his fingers over them, the sensation somehow smoothing. "I'm sure one of them will be able to come here and help him."

Derek studies him, a question he doesn't ask laying in his eyes. “Okay," he finally says.

He looks like he wants to say something else, but in the end, he just leaves the room with slow but firm steps.   
  


* * *

Cora is sitting at the table when Peter walks downstairs, writing on her laptop. She looks focused. There is a mild crease between her eyes and her mouth is slightly open. The light of her laptop lights up her face and reflects in her eyes. Peter takes a moment to just look at her. She’s changed. Of course she did. They all did. 

Peter shifts his weight and Cora perks up, looking a bit sheepish about being so focused on her work. She strokes a stray strand out of her face and smiles. “Hey.” 

Peter carefully smiles back. “Hey. What are you doing?” 

Cora shrugs, looking back at the screen, her finger tapping against the glass of water that stands beside her laptop absently. “I'm writing. I haven’t been doing that in years. But … last week, I felt like doing it. And the words came so smoothly. I thought I could continue the book I started eternities ago. The werewolf crime book.” She shrugs, looking a bit embarrassed. 

Peter smiles. “That’s great. I’m glad you found your muse again.” It’s a step back to normality. And something inside him envies Cora for that. He is about to leave again, feeling restless, when Cora suddenly gets up, pushes her chair back and approaches Peter fast, wrapping her arms around him and bumping her head against his jaw, her hands rubbing over his arms in a gesture of scenting. “Missed you,” Cora mumbles into his chest.

Peter is almost too surprised to react. But he carefully wraps his arms around Cora, rubbing his cheek over her head gently and inhaling her scent. “I missed you too," he mutters. It’s true. 

“Now that you are able to use your hands, you can make breakfast again,” Cora says, grinning up at him. “I demand the original chocolate chip pancakes for tomorrow.”

Peter lets go of her and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to do them by yourself. I’m leaving.” 

Cora’s breath hitches. “What?” she asks, frowning. “Why would you? You shifted back. Or do you have to take care of something? A threat? I can help.” 

“Not really. I … I can’t stay, Cora. I’m going back to my apartment. Derek is going to give me a ride.” 

Cora stares at him incredulously, her face flushing slowly. She looks both angry and disappointed. He hates it. “You … you are just going to leave? What about us?” 

Peter shrugs. “From what I noticed, you managed without me just fine.” 

Cora scoffs. “From what you noticed … What about Stiles? And the courting?” 

“I ended it. He’s way too young," Peter says curtly, feeling annoyed at the spark of pain his wolf sends him.

Cora’s brows wander even higher. She shakes her head. “Oh come on, we both know it isn’t about that.” 

Peter narrows his eyes. He doesn’t like where this is going. But he also can’t just turn around and leave. Not when his niece is looking at him like he’s an idiot. “Oh? And you do know what it is really about?” he bites. 

Cora crosses her arms. “You are not ending the courting because you think it’s inappropriate. You are ending it because you are scared.” 

Peter can’t help the rush of surprise at that. Scared. Huh. Is he? He mentally shakes his head, anger pushing the surprise aside. No. He’s not scared. He is ending this because it is ridiculous and has no future. And Cora … Cora doesn’t have the right to talk to him like that.

“I didn’t remember asking you to be my therapist,” he snarls at her. “You better stop trying to tell me what the reasons for my decisions are. I know them well enough myself, _pup_.”

Cora’s face falls momentarily, but she catches herself fast and scowls. “You’re an idiot. You should listen to the wolf more. Everyone knows you like Stiles and Stiles likes you too. His age doesn’t matter. We both know our wolves don’t care about that. They care about the emotional bond, about the potential of being happy with someone. So it has to be something else.” 

Peter is surprised. He didn’t expect Cora to be so fierce. 

“You are scared you won’t be able to protect him,” Cora says quietly and Peter flinches like he’s been hit. “You are scared something terrible will happen, and you will lose everything again. So you rather want to run and be on your own. Because that way, you won’t risk going through that pain of loss again and …”

“Stop,” Peter grits out, his heart beating faster.

“Why? Because it’s true?” Cora asks, raising her chin defiantly. “Just for the record, you can’t solve everything by running away. And I start to think you are a coward who ....”

“I said stop it!” Peter barks, feeling his eyes flashing and his claws pricking under his skin. “You have no idea what you are talking about!” 

Now, Cora does take a step back and her posture falters a bit, but she is still glaring at him. 

And Peter should just go now. He should leave. But he can’t. Now that he started, he somehow can’t seem to stop. 

“You have no idea,” he snarls, “no idea. While your mother grew up to be a perfect Alpha, while she was the rising star of our great, oh so proud family, I was the runt of the pack. I was told my entire life that I am only good for one thing: doing the fucking dirty work! I was shown my place often enough, in many different ways. Words or beatings, depended on their mood. And eventually, when you realize you can’t change your faith, you learn to accept it. I accepted that I was destined to be the killer, the outsider. I did my best to make it into something I can live with. I did my best to protect you and your siblings. I did! And when I warned everyone about the Argents? No one fucking listened to me. Everyone thought I was being paranoid! And what happened, huh? Kate set fire to our family. She burned down the pack I was supposed to protect! She burned down my purpose. I was living for the pack, I was living to see you pups live another day. And I couldn’t save you from the fire. I couldn’t save myself. Six years I burned in rage and despair, abandoned by the rest of my family, not sure if the hunters would come back and finish what they started, only to wake up and shift into an abomination, completely of my mind. Talia once said everything I touch turns to ash, and look what happened! It fucking did. So sorry, I am not eager to fuck another thing up!” he stops, breathing heavily. 

Cora is staring up at him, her face pale and her eyes wide.

Peter wishes he could take all the words back. He basically told her she is right. And she is. Because … He is scared. He is scared out of his mind when he thinks about what could happen to Stiles. All these horror scenarios his wolf couldn’t imagine … They are in Peter’s head instead. He can’t stand the thought he won’t be able to protect Stiles and the rest of his family. So he rather wants to live without this burden. God. Cora is right. 

He is a fucking coward. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter tells Cora, softening his voice and rubbing her arm. First, she flinches in surprise. But then, she gently shakes her head. “It’s alright. I … I’m sorry, I didn’t know it’s been that way," she mumbles.

“You couldn’t know. You were too young,” Peter tells her and sighs.

“I wasn’t,” comes a voice from the stairs and Peter and Cora turn their heads to look at Derek, who is standing there, observing them. “I think you should stay, too,” Derek reveals. 

Peter smiles weakly. “Are you going to make me?” 

“No. I’m not that kind of Alpha,” Derek says firmly, wrinkling his nose in distaste. 

“No. No, you really aren’t,” Peter agrees, feeling a tug of fondness for his nephew. 

Cora looks between them, starting to smell desperate. And sad. “We’re family,” she says quietly, looking at Peter pleadingly. “We are all that’s left. We shouldn’t fight. Or split up. I don’t like it. We all have our trauma and we deal with it differently, but that doesn't mean we can't support each other. You don’t have to take responsibility alone. You don’t have to protect Stiles alone. We can help. I wanted to be a Left Hand back then too, you remember?” 

“Of course. I didn’t forget. And just like back then, I’m telling you, you don’t want to be like that. Not really," Peter tells her firmly.

But Cora refuses to budge. “You hated it because you weren’t given a choice at all, right? You were forced to be who they wanted you to be. Which isn’t right at all. It’s horrible. I can’t believe my mother and grandparents could be like that.” She wrinkles her nose, a fire glowing in her eyes. “I would choose to be a Left Hand, because I want to protect everyone I care about. I feel it here,” she puts a hand on her chest, where her heart is. 

Peter nods, not feeling very surprised about his niece's words, but rather proud. “You would be a great protector. I’m sure.” 

Cora hums. She looks up at him, making literal puppy-eyes. Like … back in the past. When everything was easier. When there were moments of solace, under a full moon, surrounded by pack … “Stay. Please.” 

Peter hesitates. His wolf pulls at him, obviously intending to stay. But the other part of him still wants to run. Being alone makes everything so much easier. That way, he can only fuck up himself. At the same time ... Cora is right. They are family. Everything what's left of their family is here. What is he supposed to do?

Peter looks from Cora to Derek, who just nods at him. 

Before Peter can say anything, a voice cuts through the silence like a knife. 

“Wow.” 

The werewolves perk up and turn their heads. Peter immediately feels alarm pushing away every other emotion. 

Stiles is standing on the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other one pressed against his head. He looks incredibly pale. His eyes are red-rimmed. His body is trembling. 

“Stiles?” Derek asks, frowning, “are you alright?” 

Stiles stares at them, slowly shaking his head. “I was going to tell you I don’t feel so good. But also … I am feeling what you feel. You all need fucking therapy,” he tells them dryly. “Including myself.” 

He chuckles joylessly and then, he collapses, his body hitting the floor with a thud before any of the wolves can move. 

* * *

“What is happening?” Stiles slurs, blinking up at the ceiling. He is laying on his bed, the blanket pulled up to his chin. “I feel horrible.” 

Peter puts a wet cloth on Stiles’ forehead. The human feels way too hot. Like he is burning from the inside out. He is sweating and shaking. “I did some reading,” he tells Stiles calmly. “I think I know what’s wrong.” 

“What is it?” Stiles presses, staring at Peter anxiously. “Am I dying?” 

Peter shakes his head. “No. It’s your spark magic. It … pulls you back.” 

“Back?” 

“To the Nemeton.” 

“Oh. Why … why the Nemeton?” Stiles asks, scrunching up his nose. “God, everytime that magical tree stump is involved, horrible things happen, ugh.” 

Peter smiles mildly. “Don’t worry. This is not as horrible as it seems. Apparently, your spark is bound to Beacon Hills. Now that it woke up, it is reaching for the connection to the Nemeton. You just need to touch it. Then, the Nemeton will share its magic with you and in contrary, you will keep it safe.”

Stiles blinks. “Oh. Great. I’m going to be the protector of a creepy, old, magical tree stump which was drenched in innocent blood. Yay.” 

Peter chuckles. He pours Stiles a glass of water and makes him drink it. 

“So,” Stiles says, after he swallowed, “I have to go back to Beacon Hills, right?” 

Peter nods. “Yes.” 

Stiles hums, staring off into the distance. “I really don’t know how I’m going to tell my Dad that I’m now some kind of magical being, bound to a magical tree and courted by a werewolf. Oh my gosh, how is this my life.” He laughs weakly. 

Peter clears his throat. “Well. I ended the courting, remember? So you don’t have to tell your father about it …” He really isn’t eager to look into the barrel of the Sheriff’s gun. 

Stiles frowns up at him. “Yeah. About that. Uh. Can’t you continue? Please?” 

Peter sighs and looks down at his hands. So much blood on them ... “Stiles. You don’t know what you are asking for, I …”

“I know,” Stiles interrupts him, hurrying to sit up, although he grimaces. “Jesus, I feel like a stone … No really, I know. I read about it!” 

Peter isn’t surprised. “Of course you have,” he says fondly. “And what did the books tell you, smart boy?” 

“Hm, they told me that werewolf courting is actually quite sweet,” Stiles grins. “You already provided me with food and warmth. And also a good home, since I’m feeling very safe here in this, uh, den. Yeah. And the second stage would involve a lot of snuggling, scenting, protecting and taking care of each other. Which I’m not opposed to at all.” 

Peter stares at Stiles, not sure how to feel about this. “Stiles. You do realize I’m a grown man twice your age and …” 

“I know. And I don’t care. The books said that it’s about an emotional bond. It doesn’t even have to be sexual. Uh, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t ever want to have sex with you in the future,” Stiles hurries to say, flushing a bit, “cause you are gorgeous, but … we don’t have to. We just would be soulmates, taking care of each other in a wolfy way, right? It's about comfort and safety. And … I want that.” Stiles flushes even more. “If you want it. Also," he adds dryly, "please don't make things sound like I'm a child. I'm well past seventeen, not five."

Peter’s chest starts to feel tight. His wolf is singing inside him, almost giddy, but … “I don’t know, Stiles. I … I don’t think you are aware of how broken I am,” he says quietly, gritting his teeth. “Ever since I woke up from the coma … Something feels damaged and whatever it is, I’m not sure it will ever set itself together again.” 

Stiles nods and reaches out, covering one of Peter’s hands with his. His skin is warm and soft. It feels nice. Peter stares at it, his heart thundering in his chest. “I feel damaged too,” Stiles tells him. “Maybe, we can work on that together. You have been there for me the last weeks, when I was scared, when I had nightmares... I can be there for you too. At least, I can try."

Peter hesitates. He still feels a bit like running. Like leaving the fear that something terrible will happen behind. Can he really allow himself to have this? Does he deserve it? He isn’t sure. But maybe, he can at least stay until Stiles connected with the Nemeton. They have to go there together anyway, right? Right. 

He will stay for the meanwhile, until everything is okay. And then … he’ll see. He can still leave any time. Maybe, he doesn’t even have to tell Stiles, that actually, he isn’t interested in having sex with anyone. Never really has been. Just another reason why his parents and sister used to call him weird and broken … 

Peter looks down on Stiles’ hand that’s still on his, and allows himself to like the contact. At least for a while, he wants to feel like he truly belongs somewhere. Like someone wants him. Even though it's selfish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Need another cuddly wolf after this chapter? ;)
> 
> https://youtu.be/eTh36lwIJF0


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles is standing on a clearing. 

He is alone.  
  
Alone with the silent trees that surround the clearing in a circle, throwing huge shadows. There is a tree stump in the middle. The shadows of the tree tops seem to point at it.

“The Nemeton,” Stiles whispers to himself. 

He walks forward without even thinking about it, his feet moving like something is pulling at him. Pulling him towards the tree. 

The closer he comes, the more Stiles feels the … warmth. It seeps through him in little surges of energy. Warmth and goodwill. The energy whispers his name. His given name. The one no one, not even himself, can pronounce. 

Stiles exhales shakily and lays the flat of his right hand onto the stump. The surface is rough. Warm. Something seems to be buzzing underneath it. Like a thousand bees. A pulse of energy envelops Stiles' hand, feeling gentle yet powerful. 

Stiles feels known. Seen. Understood. And something inside him doesn’t want to leave this place ever again. He caresses the tree stump, running his fingers over dried moss and deep grooves that time has cut into the wood. He vaguely wonders how old the Nemeton is. Wonders how many years - centuries - the tree has seen. And how many more it will endure. 

_But it needs protection_ , Stiles thinks. Needs someone who takes care nothing happens to it and the magic. Because there always will be people who don't want such things in their world. 

As if on cue, the energy running through his veins changes. It still feels warm and powerful, but there is something else underneath now. Something, that doesn’t feel right. It feels like … sickness. 

_A sickness from within,_ Stiles thinks absently, not even sure where the thought is coming from. _We are all sick._

He shivers when he hears the echo of a rattling laughter. The air around him starts to smell different. It smells burnt. 

Stiles frowns and looks up. He freezes. 

The clearing around him is black. Where once was green grass, there is now dark ash. The trees are marred skeletons. Their black branches are contorted as if in pain. Ash is floating in the air like snow. 

Stiles feels scared. His throat tightens and he starts to sweat. The energy between him and the Nemeton vibrates urgently. It seems to carry words … 

_Protect us. Protect us. Protect us -_

Stiles wakes up with a gasp. He blinks up at the ceiling for the moment it takes him to cross the bridge between dream and reality. 

The Nemeton. Energy. Warm. Cold. Burnt. 

Stiles shivers. It all felt so real. The palm of his hand tingles. Feels like the energy is still there. And of course it is. Because, Stiles reminds himself, he is a spark. He still doesn’t know enough to understand what that means, but he knows there is magic inside him. Magic that calls for a connection with the Nemeton. No wonder, his dream led him there … 

Still. Stiles wishes it wouldn’t have taken such a sudden, disturbing turn. 

When the aftershock of the dream fades, Stiles notices it is kind of hard for him to breathe. There is a heavy weight on his chest. Stiles raises his head and sees Peter-wolf curled up on him. His head rests on his massive paws and he is breathing evenly, apparently fast asleep. His paws twitch from time to time. 

As cute as the sight is, Stiles is surprised to see Peter shifted again. It also makes him feel anxious. Maybe Peter decided he’s better off as a wolf after all. Maybe, something that Stiles said made him withdraw. Maybe, it was too much. Maybe, he was too straightforward. Maybe, he shouldn’t have mentioned sex. Uh oh. He doesn’t even know if Peter would like to have sex with him. After all, sex is not everything a relationship is about, right? 

Peter didn't even tell Stiles, if he would continue the courting or not. He just didn't mention it anymore.

As if he can sense the intrusive thoughts keeping Stiles’ mind busy, Peter-wolf growls and his ears twitch. One of his paws - so damn huge - stretches out and lands on Stiles’ collarbone. A claw comes out and leaves a thin red line. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a short burn. 

Stiles still winces. He somehow wants to shove Peter-wolf off him, because it would be so much easier for him to breathe, if he only had the wolf’s head on his chest, not his whole huge body. He feels like he is being crushed and wonders, how he’d been able to sleep like this. But then, he remembers the state he’s been in. He basically passed out, with Peter still wiping sweat off his forehead and making him drink water. 

After several hours of sleep, Stiles feels better, but his body is still heavy and everything feels sore. 

“Peter,” Stiles croaks and carefully reaches out to pat the wolf’s head. “Peter. I can’t breathe.” 

Peter-wolf growls again. This time, it definitely sounds annoyed. One of his eyes opens slowly, blinking at Stiles. After blinking with the other eye too, Peter-wolf raises his head and yawns, showing all his impressive murder fangs and also giving Stiles a good whiff of wolf-morning-breath. “Ugh,” Stiles grimaces. “Gross, dude. Did a rabbit die in your mouth tonight?!” 

The wolf just huffs, slowly stands up and shakes his fur out, his fore-paws still on Stiles’ poor chest. The weight disappears when Peter-wolf jumps off the bed. Stiles takes some deep, relieved breaths. 

He slowly sits up and reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand. He glances at the wolf while gulping the cool liquid down. “Peter, why are you a wolf again?” he carefully asks, once he swallowed every drop.

Stiles receives no answer. Of course not. Peter-wolf turns his head to lick his shoulder. 

Stiles sighs. “Listen … if anything I said was too much, I’m -”

Peter-wolf turns around and jogs out of the room without taking a look back, his claws clicking on the floor.

Stiles closes his mouth and tries not to be offended. “Okay. Whatever,” he murmurs, burying his face back in his pillow. 

He definitely feels better than yesterday. A bit. He wonders if his dream has anything to do with that. Was that already some kind of connection with the Nemeton? The thought is kind of disturbing. But then … it is magic. Magic could be everything and nothing. A riddle, not even fully solved by those who can tame it. At least, the books told Stiles so. 

He sighs and closes his eyes, deciding he should just take another nap, because why not. 

* * *

Derek puts his and Cora’s suitcases into the back of his car and throws the cabin behind him a long, sorrowful glance.  
  
He isn’t eager to leave.  
  
It was nice to have some distance from Beacon Hills and everything connected to the town. All the ghosts from the past. The pain. The guilt and the regrets. Everything felt so far away. Like he could just forget about it. 

Derek does realize the cabin wasn’t meant to be a permanent solution. He didn’t do anything to actually fight his demons. He just turned his back on them. Stiles’ words echo in his head since yesterday. You all need therapy. 

Therapy.  
  
Derek did consider it before. He already dialed the number. But he didn’t manage to make the call. He wouldn’t have been able to be himself. No human therapist could truly understand what he went through. How it felt like. 

But maybe, if he would put more effort into it, he could find a therapist for the supernatural. Maybe that’s a thing. He files that away for later. There are other things to focus on right now. Like helping Stiles. 

Derek walks back to the house with an empty suitcase.

When he approaches Stiles’ room, there is a low growl. Peter is sitting in front of the door in his wolf form, his ears perked up in awareness. Derek arches a brow and steps past him, knocking at the door lightly and entering it at Stiles’ quiet affirmation. 

Stiles is sitting in bed, still looking pale and exhausted, but he doesn’t smell as sick as he did yesterday. “We should leave soon,” Derek tells him, showing Stiles the suitcase he brought. “I can help you pack.” 

Stiles nods. “Thank you. I didn’t have much with me anyway.” He frowns when Peter sneaks into the room and shakes his head. “I don’t know why he shifted again. We talked, I fell asleep and then I woke up with a ton of wolf on my chest,” Stiles mumbles. 

“Don’t worry. He probably just didn’t want to help packing,” Derek remarks, which makes Peter growl and snap into the direction of Derek's hand. The wolf runs out of the room again, calling for Cora. 

“It feels more like he doesn’t want to talk to me,” Stiles says quietly. He starts to smell sad and Derek doesn’t like it. He opens the suitcase and puts Stiles’ clothes into it. “Peter has a habit of avoiding situations that make him uncomfortable,” he admits. “In the past, he sometimes vanished for days and reappeared all of a sudden, acting like nothing had happened. He … doesn’t do the _talking about it_ thing.” 

“But … you can’t run forever,” Stiles says, fidgeting with the blanket. “No matter how far I run, the problem will still be there when I stop running.” 

Derek hums. Of course, Stiles is right. But it’s not always easy to talk about things. Derek knows that from his own experiences. Still. He suddenly realizes that running away seems to be a habit they all share in some form. He ran away by renting a remote cabin. Cora escapes through her books and writing. Peter turns into the wolf. And in all the time … how often did they actually talk about the things that happened? 

Derek is ripped out of his thoughts, when Stiles coughs and groans, bending over as if he’s in pain. “You’re okay?” he asks, frowning. 

Stiles nods weakly. “It’s just … the pull started again,” he explains. 

Derek closes the suitcase easily. Stiles really didn’t have many things with him. “We should leave,” he says. 

“Yeah. Sure,” Stiles nods and gets out of bed carefully, grimacing. “Let’s go, so I can finally touch the magic tree stump.” 

* * *

The drive back to Beacon Hills is silent. 

Derek is driving. Cora is reading her book. Stiles has no idea how she does that, whenever he tries to read something in a car or bus, it takes only seconds until he starts to feel nauseous. He is staring out of the window, absently scratching between Peter-wolf’s ears. The wolf has his front paws and head draped over Stiles’ legs. He makes rumbling noises whenever Stiles’ catches a good spot.

Stiles lets his thoughts wander away. He wonders how it’s going to be to tell everyone he’s magic now. What will Scott think? Will he even take Stiles seriously? And his Dad … Stiles swallows. Peter-wolf licks his hand, like always sensing every hint of nervousness and distress. 

Somehow, the question how people are going to react is burning more than the question, how he is going to connect to the Nemeton, what impact that is going to have and how his magic will work. He remembers that he also still needs a teacher. 

Stiles sighs and leans his forehead against the cool windowpane. It is interesting, how much better he feels with every mile they come closer to Beacon Hills. To the Nemeton.

The woods and mountains slowly pass by and change back into a more rural landscape. 

“Do we go straight to the Nemeton?” Stiles asks when he recognizes the first signs and houses, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Derek shakes his head. “No. First, we have to go and see the Alpha.” 

Peter-wolf growls. The fur at his neck bristles. Cora glances up from her book and huffs, rolling her eyes. 

Stiles feels half amused, half confused. “But … you are an Alpha too,” he points out. 

“I am,” Derek nods. “But I left the territory. Right now, Scott is the Alpha of Beacon Hills. He has a pack, an emissary and, technically, he owns the Nemeton. I can’t just invade his territory with my pack and a new spark. I have to inform him and ask him to let us roam free on the territory ...” 

“Scott wouldn’t even notice we are back,” Cora mumbles, hiding behind her book. 

Peter-wolf chuffs and wags his tail joyfully. Stiles glances down at the wolf, shaking his head in amazement. It’s incredible how Peter can express every single one of his emotions just fine while being a wolf. 

“It isn’t right,” Derek insists. “It won’t feel right. We are born wolves and the last of an old family with traditions that go back centuries. We have to stick to our etiquettes. No one preaches that more than you, Peter. So don’t be a hypocrite, when it comes to Scott,” he says, arching a brow. 

The wolf growls, but it sounds a bit resigned. 

Cora sighs. “Well. I’m sooo looking forward to talking to someone who has an Alpha spark yet knows nothing about being an Alpha and refuses to learn from actual wolves.” 

Derek glances at her through the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Stiles bites his lip and runs his fingers through the fur at Peter’s neck, the rhythmic movement soothing him. 

He feels even more anxious now. 

* * *

“Stiles.” Scott looks surprised when he opens his door. He eyes Stiles up and down, frowns, then throws a glance behind him, at Derek and Cora. “You’re back,” he says and clearly means everyone piling up in front of the house.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Can we come in?” 

Scott scratches the back of his head. He opens the door for them, nodding. “Sure.” 

Derek and Cora walk into the house wordlessly. Stiles takes a step, then hesitates and looks back to the car. Peter-wolf sits in front of it, staring at him, but making no move to join them. 

Stiles considers asking Peter to come with him for a moment, but then decides not to. He walks into Scott’s house, figuring that maybe, it isn’t so bad Scott and Peter won’t have a chance to clash today. 

* * *

They all sit at the table in the living room and it feels … odd. 

Scott glances at Stiles, and there is a palpable tension in the space between them. Stiles feels kind of sad about it. He reminds himself that things change. People change. Relationships change. People don’t always stay friends forever. Still. He wishes Scott wouldn’t eye him with this kind of wary suspicion written on his face and in his eyes. 

Scott sniffs and the crease between his eyes goes even deeper. “Dude. You don’t look so well and you smell … strange,” he tells Stiles, wrinkling his nose. “You’re fine?” 

_No. I haven’t been fine in a really long time,_ Stiles thinks, not able to swallow down the bitter taste Scott’s question causes. “It’s … complicated,” he says, glancing at Derek, whose face is stony. “There are some things we have to talk about. Important things.” 

“Okay,” Scott says slowly. “What things?” 

Derek takes a deep breath. He flashes his eyes red and Stiles’ breath hitches, because … he can feel the energy Derek radiates. It surges through him like an electric shock. It feels strong and confident and … warm. Stiles realizes that if he was a wolf, his eyes would flash in response now, like Cora’s do for a moment. 

“I, Alpha of the Hale pack,” Derek says, his voice serious, “ask you, Alpha of the McCall pack, to permit my pack to roam free on this territory for it is our home as well, and because we have to seek out the Nemeton.” 

Scott blinks. Confusion is written all over his face and Stiles starts to feel some pity for him. “Uh, sure. You can, uh, roam free,” Scott says and smiles carefully. “I don’t have anything against you.” 

Derek nods. “Thank you.” 

Cora’s expression is quiet sour, but she nods at Scott as well. 

Scott seems to think the serious business is over now, because he leans over to Stiles and tells him, “Dude. You really have to do something against that smell.” 

Stiles’ arches his brows. “What smell?” 

“You smell way too much like Peter. He’s not with you, is he?” Scott continues, not even noticing the hint of a scowl appearing on Derek’s face and the twitch of Cora’s brow. Stiles opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Peter’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife. “Why, of course I’m with them. I wouldn’t want to miss this little reunion at all costs!” 

Scott’s head whips around so fast, Stiles is surprised he doesn’t hear a crack. Stiles isn’t surprised at all to see that Peter is leaning in the doorframe with his hands clasped behind his back and a smirk on his face, looking all dramatic and villainous - To Stiles’ relief, he didn’t choose to appear naked, but apparently took the time to get some of his clothes out of a suitcase. Stiles really hopes he didn’t manage to traumatize some stranger with shifting back and then searching through a suitcase naked. 

“How are you, Scott?” Peter asks, tilting his head. “Still busy with keeping your territory as unsafe as possible?” 

Scott grits his teeth. “I don’t know what you mean. We don’t have any problems here.” 

Peter arches a brow. “Are you sure? Because I smelled two rogue Omegas since I entered the territory and I think I don’t have to remind you that they can cause big problems - or do I have to remind you after all, Alpha McCall? Since you didn't even notice I'm around.” 

Scott glares at Peter, then turns to glare at Derek too. “I don’t want _him_ here,” he snarls. “No one wants him here.” 

Stiles feels a rush of anger at that. He is faster than Derek. “Well, you aren’t his Alpha. You can’t tell him to leave. This is Peter’s home too,” he says, crossing his arms. 

Scott looks at him, a hint of surprise softening the anger in his eyes. “Why the hell are you defending him? Why are you even with _them_? Where were you all this time, Stiles? You’re part of the pack, I …”

“I’m not, Scott,” Stiles says, not without feeling a hint of phantom pain. “I’m not in the pack. Not in yours, at least.” It is true. He can’t even feel the bonds anymore. Instead, he can feel a connection to the Hales, each one feeling stable and warm. The bond to Peter is the strongest and right now, it seems to vibrate with fondness. “I’m pretty sure I’m in Derek’s pack now,” Stiles adds, looking at Derek for confirmation. 

The werewolf nods. 

Scott stares between them, completely confused. “How did that happen? Stiles, why are you switching packs? We are …”

“What, Scott?” Stiles cuts him off, “what are we? Best friends? Listen … everything that happened, I think it changed things. I … I wasn’t okay after the Nogitsune. I am still not okay. That’s the truth. I have nightmares and panic attacks and flashbacks … I’m very much not okay. Look … I get that you and the others needed time. We lost people. We lost Allison … I totally get it. But … time passed and no one even asked for me. No one. Well, Derek appeared one day. And when I told him I would like to be somewhere else, he offered me to come with him, to the cabin he rented. I was there the last few weeks. You didn’t even notice, did you? Well, I was there, and I spent time with Derek, Cora and Peter. They cared about me and they helped me deal with everything. So … Yeah, I’m in their pack now.” 

Scott looks both hurt and a bit guilty. “But … we could still go back, right? It's not like I hate you, or something. We could still forget and go back to the good old times …”

“No, Scott,” Stiles says softly. “We can’t.” 

“So you choose them over me,” Scott says, narrowing his eyes. “You’d actually choose someone like Peter over me.” 

Stiles glances at Peter, who watches the whole scene with an indifferent expression on his face and takes a deep breath. “Look, Scott, I get you are hurt but … Stop talking about my pack like that, alright? We don’t have to fight each other. We could live side by side, fight together … Peter, Derek and Cora are born werewolves. Their family has been living here for ages. They know a lot of stuff. Peter knows how to handle threats. If you would listen to them …”

“I don’t need anyone telling me how to do things,” Scott says, crossing his arms. “Especially not someone who is a murderer.” 

Stiles opens his mouth, but Peter is faster. “Yes. I am a murderer. I won’t deny that. As Left Hand, I killed to protect my pack, my family. And later, I killed to avenge them. Apart from killing Laura and biting you and having to use Lydia like that, I would do everything the same way again. The world is not made of chocolate cake and balloons. Sometimes, you have to make your hands dirty to keep those you care about safe. Because when people like Gerard Argent appear, there is no other way to make sure no innocent blood is going to spilled." 

Scott scowls at the mention of Gerard. “Gerard is no threat. We - Deaton and I - we are bargaining with him.” 

“You can’t bargain with someone fueled by hate,” Peter says, almost gentle. “You are going to get somebody killed by being so gullible, Scott. You have to find a way to keep everyone safe. Including the Nemeton. You don’t even know why the Nemeton is so important, do you?” 

Scott blinks. “No,” he says reluctantly and a bit defensively. “I … It’s just an old tree, I mean …” 

“It’s so much more than just an old tree. I really wonder Deaton hasn't explained it to you better. How about that, Alpha McCall. You come with us, to the Nemeton, and we’ll show you why it is so important to protect it. As Alpha from Beacon Hills, you have to be there anyway, when we fulfill the connection,” Peter says, looking down at Stiles with a fond smile. 

“Connection?” Scott says, surprised, his eyes flicking to Stiles as well. 

Peter nods. “Stiles is a spark. I have been suspecting it for quite a while, and when a rogue Alpha appeared, giving me and Derek a hard fight, Stiles’ magic has decided to wake up. He has the potential to be very powerful. I am not surprised you didn’t notice. You didn’t even smell it. Stiles has magic. He’s bound to the Nemeton. By connecting with it, he will become a protector of this town.” 

“A spark,” Scott repeats, looking at Stiles with open confusion and even a bit wary. “What the hell is a spark? And what does that mean, you have magic? You are human.” 

Peter's sigh sounds frustrated. He still stays remarkably calm. “Just … come with us. To the Nemeton.” 

Scott looks stricken. He chews on his lip, then looks at Derek. “What do you think?” he asks, his eyes more open when he meets Derek's.

“I think you should listen to Peter,” Derek says quietly. “I know you don’t get along, and you don’t have to. But … this is about something more important, Scott. Beacon Hills is our home too - it always was - and we want to keep it safe. It would be better if we work together on that.” 

Scott considers this and then looks at Cora, who shrugs. “We already told you. You have to learn, Scott. You can’t keep the territory safe forever like this. You should listen to us for once, before something terrible happens.” 

Scott looks between them for a long moment. Finally, he sighs and nods. “Alright. I will come with you. But,” he glares at Peter, “you will not murder anyone.” 

Peter glares right back. “I am going to do whatever it takes to keep my pack safe,” he snarls, stepping forward and putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles doesn’t miss it is both a protective and possessive gesture. 

Scott narrows his eyes and shows his teeth when he sees it. 

Stiles hates the growing tension in the air between the wolves. He raises his hands. “I’m begging you, can we finally get to the part where I touch the magic tree? Because I’m starting to feel really miserable again,” he says. It’s not a lie. The pulling started again. His stomach is aching.

A hint of confused worry appears in Scott’s eyes. It does calm Stiles down a bit. Scott still cares about him.

They all get up, the tension not gone at all, but feeling a bit less pressing. 

When Stiles walks to the door, he can hear Peter telling Scott behind him, “And by the way, sparks are able to take the wolf away from bitten werewolves, so I would be very, very polite to Stiles from now on if I were you.” 

Stiles can’t hear Scott’s reply, but he is too distracted to pay attention to it anyway. Too distracted by the question if this is true and if it is, what else he might be capable of. 

It is a disturbing thought but … something inside him likes it. Something inside him likes the idea of having this kind of power. And the fact that this doesn’t make him feel bad at all, is what scares Stiles the most. 


	7. Chapter 7

Their walk through the woods is silent. And a bit awkward.

Scott is sulking and glaring at Peter’s back. Peter is walking close to Stiles, their shoulders brushing together now and then. Stiles is quite sure Peter does it on purpose. He doesn’t mind. Cora and Derek are following behind, talking to each other quietly.

Although Stiles feels like he was run over by a truck repeatedly, he can’t ignore that over all, it is a really nice day. Golden sunbeams fall through the roof of leaves and warm Stiles’ face. Birds are chirping. A squirrel jumps from branch to branch. Everything is peaceful.

Stiles doesn’t know how to feel. Every time the Nemeton has been involved, bad things happened. Last time, it brought the Nogitsune. But back then, there was no spark to help keep the territory safe. To take care no bad magical things were attracted by the source of magic in the middle of the territory.

Stiles sighs when a fit of sudden exhaustion hits him. He wipes his face. It feels hot. “We’re on the right track, are we?” he asks, suddenly scared they will be wandering around here forever. “I mean, the Nemeton does have a tendency to hide itself.”

Peter smiles at him, unspoken awe in his eyes. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You are already leading us there.”

Stiles startles a bit at that. “Oh. I do?”

He has been caught in his own thoughts so much, he didn’t even notice he’s been at the top of the group the whole time, just … walking on. Wow.

“Your magic is guiding you,” Peter explains, putting a comforting hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Just let it.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, swallowing heavily. This is fine. Just … more magic. He fights a feeling of anxiety trying to bubble up. Tries to stay calm. “You said you wanted to explain to Scott why the Nemeton is so important,” he says to Peter. It’s an attempt to scare away bad thoughts and worries.

Maybe, Peter senses it, because he nods and starts talking, his voice calm. Even.

“The Nemeton lies at the center of this territory. It is situated at a convergence of Telluric currents,” with a glance at Scott, who already looks confused, Peter adds, “Those are electric currents which move underground or through the sea. It makes the Nemeton a beacon for supernatural creatures. Of course, this Nemeton isn’t the only one, which explains why not every single supernatural creature in this world wants to live in this cursed town. Stiles will be able to use the currents for his magic, once he learned how to do that.”

Stiles remembers Jennifer who used the currents for her sacrifices and to gain more power. For a horrible moment, he imagines he would change into something like that. A darach. Stiles shivers. He quickly focuses back on Peter’s words.

“The Nemeton made it possible for us to be born. It gave us our wolve sparks. The druids believe that any harm done to the Nementon will have disastrous consequences for the territory. Plaques, fires or natural catastrophes like floods. That’s why the Nemeton needs to be protected. The best is, if a Nemeton is connected to a spark. A spark can use the magical power that comes from the currents and the Nemetons, to keep the territory and all its inhabitants safe.”

Scott scrunches his nose and glances at Stiles. “Does that mean Stiles is not human anymore?”

“Yes and no,” Peter says. “He is human, apart from the magic flowing through his veins. He doesn’t change, but once he can control his spark magic, he will be able to heal wounds.”

“Hm,” Scott makes.

He looks stricken. Stiles wishes Scott would be more supportive. Wishes he wouldn’t be so … wary. They were best friends, after all. Or maybe they never were. Maybe, Stiles wonders, Scott is scared Stiles will try to take the territory from him or something. Which is ridiculous. Stiles doesn’t want to take anything from anyone.

His thought process is interrupted, when they step on a clearing and Stiles sees it.

The Nemeton.

Right in front of them, looking so very unremarkable. Suddenly, Stiles notices that the clearing is completely silent. No bird is chirping here. No leaf is rustling. But the bushes framing the clearing are shivering.  
  
Stiles swallows heavily. He can feel a pull inside of him now. Like the Nemeton is a magnet, drawing him closer. He takes a few shaking steps, looking around, just to make sure Peter’s at his side. He is.

“Don’t be scared, Stiles,” he says, rubbing Stiles’ back. “I can feel the Nemeton stirring because you are close. Once you connect to the magic, everything will be easier. And more spectacular,” he winks. 

That manages to make Stiles smile weakly. “How … how exactly do we do this?”  
  
“We are going to wake the Nemeton up,” Peter says cryptically.   
  
“How?” Scott asks, arching his brows. “How do you wake a tree up?”

Peter hums and glances at Scott, lips curling into a smirk. “Well, we need a sacrifice, of course.”

Scott freezes, pales, then takes a huge step away from Peter and splutters, “What?! I knew it! I knew it, Stiles, Peter is going to try to kill me!”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Calm down. I was just kidding. The connection of a spark and a Nemeton requires a certain procedure. We will all touch the tree. We are going to sacrifice our wolves, and therefore our magic and immortality, until the Nemeton has accepted Stiles.”  
  
Scott gasps and his jaw drops. “That’s … that’s not better!” 

Peter sighs. “It’s only temporary. It’s the ritual for introducing a new spark to the Nemeton, Scott. Once Stiles connected to the Nemeton, he is going to give us our wolves back, just like he can take them again, if he wishes to do so later.” Stiles doesn’t miss the underlying threat in Peter’s words.  
  
“So … you weren’t kidding about the whole _he can take your wolf away_ thing?” Scott asks, the expression of shock on his face turning into a pained one. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “I am really not okay with this.”

“I really don’t hope you are suggesting we let Stiles suffer and eventually die just because your sorry ass is too scared to do one selfless thing for the person who always did everything he could for you and your dumbass friends,” Peter growls and now he definitely looks murderous. His eyes flash. “Because if you do, I might feel motivated enough to really kill you, McCall. And don’t you dare bring up the Nogitsune. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault. We all know that. All things come with a prize.”

Scott falters a bit under all the glares settled on him now. He glances at Stiles. “Sorry, Dude. Of course I want to help to make you feel better.” He turns back to Peter, raising his chin to appear at least a little bit brave, although his hands are shaking where they are curled into fists. “How exactly do we do this?”

“Everyone of us is going to touch the Nemeton. Let the wolf come out. As soon as Stiles is going to touch the Nemeton too, everything is going to happen on its own record,” Peter explains. 

“How reassuring,” Scott mumbles and receives an elbow into his side from Cora, who pushes past him to get to the Nemeton, throwing her hair back. “Stop being a pussy, McCall. It’s magic. A lot inside of you is magic too now, so you shouldn’t be so scared of it.” She places the palm of her hand on the Nemeton and flashes her eyes, letting the Beta shift come forward.

Derek steps forward silently and does the same. Peter follows. The last one to approach and touch the Nemeton is Scott. He sticks out with his shift, all of the Hales having similar features that show their relation. 

The wolves look at Stiles’ expectantly. God. They are trusting him with this. They could lose their wolf, could lose what makes them so special, and they still do this.

Stiles swallows heavily around the lump that seems to be stuck in his throat. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he says hoarsely, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater.

“You can, darling. Don’t be scared,” Peter tells him, voice slurred around his fangs.

Stiles exhales shakily. “You’re all going to be vulnerable. What if the Nemeton decides it doesn’t want to connect to me? What if you aren’t getting your wolves back?” 

“That’s not going to happen. Because it’s you,” Peter says calmly. 

Stiles doesn’t really know what to make of this. But somehow, the words do make him feel better. More confident.

He takes a deep breath, telling himself to get a grip.

This is fine. It’s just magic. He’s just going to connect to a magic tree and is going to steal his friends’ wolves only to put them back afterwards. He can do this. Oh God. Can he?!

Stiles forces himself to move. Every step he takes seems to drag him down. He feels so heavy. But eventually, he’s right in front of the tree stump.

Under the gaze of the wolves, he slowly reaches out and puts his hand on the Nemeton.

Involuntarily, Stiles holds his breath.

“No matter what happens around you, don’t cut the connection,” Peter tells him.   
  
Stiles nods. He can’t talk right now. His throat is so dry, it could as well be the Sahara Desert.

There is a long moment of utter silence. A moment where Stiles thinks nothing is going to happen - Hey, maybe Peter was wrong. Maybe, Stiles isn’t a spark but only has the flu and they can just go home, eating chicken broth or something, maybe - But then, he feels the buzzing. A buzzing, like bees are trembling against his hand. The feeling wanders over his skin, enveloping his hand, then his wrist.

His skin heats up. He closes his eyes and focuses on what he’s feeling. The buzzing energy creeps up his arm, then seems to fill his insides too. It feels like taking a bath, like laying in steaming hot water. It doesn’t hurt, but it isn’t entirely pleasant as well. A tingle joins the buzzing and Stiles’ breath hitches when somewhere inside him, something clicks into place. Something … suddenly feels so right about this. 

Just like it did in his dream.

Suddenly, there is a voice inside Stiles’ head. It is impossible to describe it. It is a voice, but at the same time it’s not. Tendrils of energy reaching out and touching places in his mind.

_You. You are the spark. It is no wonder, the magic followed you around. But your spark was still dormant, wasn’t it? Something woke it up. Something powerful. Love.  
_

Love. Stiles frowns in mild surprise. But yeah. It makes sense. He feels love for his friends. For Cora and Derek. Even still for Scott, even though they are drifting apart. And for Peter … he feels love for Peter too. But he thinks it’s different.

Love sounds like a good source of strength, Stiles thinks vaguely. Better than rage. Or a yearning for power. Or revenge.

 _Yes_ , the voice inside his head agrees. _It is.  
  
_ The next moment, the buzzing intensifies, spreading through Stiles and then out of him in a sudden burst.

Scott makes a startled noise and Stiles hears someone close to him groan, but he doesn’t open his eyes. If he does, he’ll probably lose his shit and let go of the Nemeton. He just keeps his hand where it is and hopes everyone is alright. 

Stiles guesses the Nemeton is accepting the offered sacrifices. And he really hopes Peter won’t regret believing in him.

The Nemeton not-speaks again, caressing that place inside Stiles with silky magic.

_You are strong. Your pack is strong. They are the true protectors of this territory. Keep your eye on anyone else, Mieczysław. Keep your eyes on the footsteps behind you.  
_

Stiles frowns. Before he can wonder what _that_ is supposed to mean, the magic retreats and then hits him like a fist. Punches him right into the chest. He bends forward and gasps, but keeps his hand on the Nemeton. Oh. Oh God. It _hurts_.

It feels like someone is groping around inside him. Like a gruff hand is trying to move his organs around. 

It seems like it is going on forever, but eventually, something settles in Stiles’ chest. Bright and strong. The buzzing retreats. His skin cools down.

The tendrils of energy vanish. Stiles still doesn’t dare to move or open his eyes. He barely dares to take a breath.

He winces when he’s touched, a hand gently squeezing his shoulder. “Let go, Stiles,” Peter says. “You can let go now. It’s over.”

Stiles exhales shakily and opens his eyes carefully, blinking into the light. Peter is looking at him with awe in his eyes.

“You … you still have your wolf, right?” Stiles asks, feeling a hint of anxious panic.  
  
Peter just flashes his eyes electric blue in return and smiles.

Stiles sighs in relief.

Scott looks quite shaken. He stares at his hand, grimacing. “This was awful. I felt like I’m normal again.”

Cora rolls her eyes. “Yeah. That would be very awful.”

Derek looks at Stiles attentively. “Are you feeling better now?”  
  
“I do,” Stiles says, after listening inside for a moment. He definitely doesn't feel exhausted anymore. “I really do feel better. Hey, is it normal that magical tree stumps can talk to you?”

“Oh of course,” Peter says, smiling. “The Nemeton is a magical entity, of course it can communicate if it wants to.”

Scott stares at Stiles like he is seeing an interesting but ugly insect. “That tree talked to you? Dude.”

“Can you feel it? The connection?” Cora asks, looking both curious and slightly reverent. 

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, reaching for his chest, where the _something_ is pulsing, warm and bright. “I can feel it.”

Peter nods, looking satisfied. “Good. All you need now, is a teacher.”

Stiles scrunches his nose. “Where do we find one?”

Peter pats his back. “I’m working on it. But maybe, you should go and see your Dad. Tell him before … Well, before he finds out in a not so convenient way.”

Uh oh. Stiles swallows heavily. That’s going to be fun for sure … 

* * *

Noah Stilinski looks from Stiles to Peter and back. He slowly leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. The crease on his forehead deepens. “You are telling me,” he says, arching a brow, “that my son was almost killed by a rogue Alpha, but you and Derek saved him and were almost killed yourself, whereupon my son used a burst of magic to, er, dissolve said Alpha and save you and Derek?”

Stiles feels his right eye twitching. Oh God. Out of his Dad's mouth, this sounds even more weird. 

Peter nods. “Yes. That’s essentially what happened.”

Noah hums. “And Stiles is now a, uh, a spark? Someone who can use magic.”

“Yes,” Peter repeats. “And once we find Stiles a teacher, he will be very powerful.”

“Very powerful,” Noah echoes. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stiles … I let you out of sight for a few weeks, and you come back as a … a wizard?!”

“Spark, Dad. Not wizard. That’s Harry Potter,” Stiles says carefully.

Noah arches his brows. “I can’t believe this. I … I think I need a drink.”

“I assure you, this is nothing to be scared of,” Peter says. “Quite the contrary. Stiles will make a magnificent spark. And I will be with him the whole time, taking care he won’t get hurt.”

Stiles feels a certain warmth spreading inside him at Peter’s words and lowers his head. He knows he’s blushing.

Noah frowns. “I’m not sure how to feel about this. Any of this. Didn’t Stiles help to burn you after you killed Kate Argent and threatened a bunch of teenagers?”

Peter smirks and nods. “Oh yeah, he did. And he had to. I was out of control and I never really expected to survive my revenge. I’m not angry they stopped me. Not at all. I told Stiles back then already, I like him. I always did and I always will. Why do you think did I help with the Nogitsune? I wouldn't have, if it was someone not Stiles, Derek or Cora.” He chuckles.

Noah’s brows wander up even higher.

Stiles squirms on his chair. God. This talk goes into a direction he really doesn’t like. At least not now, not here. “Can we go back to me being magic now?” he prompts, grinning weakly. "Magic. Cool, heh?"

But Peter chooses this moment to tell Noah proudly, with his chest puffed out, “My wolf has chosen Stiles. He’s been courting him and since your son asked me to continue, I will.”

Stiles’ jaw drops. 

Noah’s does too. 

There is a long moment of awkward silence.

Then, Noah blurts out, “Your wolf did WHAT now?!” 

Stiles hides his face in his hands. He wishes he could use his magic to make himself disappear.


	8. Chapter 8

“Dad! It is not what you think. Oh my … Dad, put your gun away!” 

Noah doesn’t put it away, his eyes blazing as he half pulls it out of the holster at his hip. “Really? I think I know exactly what this is! Have you been taking advantage of my son while he’s been alone with you and vulnerable?!” he barks at Peter. “What are your plans? Do you think you can defile my son behind my back?!” 

First, Peter looks stunned, then a flash of hurt flicks over his face, quickly making place to open disgust. He wrinkles his nose. “What? No! I would never think about defiling Stiles. I want to protect and cherish your son! He is special to me and my wolf.”

Something about this sounds like from a romance book playing in the 18th century. But still. Peter’s words make Stiles feel warm inside. He reaches out and pulls at his dad’s arm. “Please, Dad. There really is no reason for this. Peter hasn’t done anything wrong. You don’t even know what happened, you are overreacting!” 

Noah glances at him. He doesn’t look convinced at all, but his fingers relax their iron grip around the handle of his gun and he shoves it back into its holster. Stiles huffs a breath of relief. 

Noah points at Stiles, narrowing his eyes. “We are going to talk. Now.” Directed at Peter he says, “In private.” 

Peter looks from Noah to Stiles, a question in his eyes. Stiles shrugs and smiles lopsidedly, trying to say “Worried fathers, eh? What can you do …” without actually talking out loud. 

Peter pushes his chair back and gets up. “I am going to take a walk,” he mutters. After a last glance at Stiles he leaves, his shoulders a bit hunched. Stiles doesn’t need to be able to read minds to tell this was not at all what Peter expected when he dropped his bomb … 

As soon as the door closes behind the werewolf, Noah turns back to Stiles, crossing his arms and raising his brows. “What is this?” 

Stiles sighs, slumping on his chair from which he jumped up when things were about to escalate. “It is nothing you have to worry about, Dad. Really,” he mutters. 

“Really? What does that mean, that his … his wolf chose you? Chose you how?” Noah presses.

Stiles still thinks it would be much cooler to talk about magic than complicated feelings, but well. “You need to hear the whole story to get it, okay? When Derek told me I can come to the cottage, he left out that Peter was there too. Only not in his human form. There was a fire at his apartment building and it made him freak out. So he shifted and didn’t shift back, probably to avoid having to deal with the resurfacing trauma.”  
  
“A fire. That must have been rough,” Noah says after a moment of thoughtful silence, sitting down opposite Stiles. The hint of sympathy in his Dad’s voice gives Stiles confidence to continue. He looks down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. “Yeah. Look … Peter’s wolf being around really helped me. He found me when I had a panic attack. Calmed me down and distracted me. We took long walks through the forest. I always knew I wouldn’t get lost because he would lead me back to the cottage. It was good. A good thing.” 

Stiles stops for a short moment, glancing at his father. Noah is watching him, his face serious, jaw a bit tense. But his eyes are not filled with anger or wariness. Stiles continues. 

“One day, Peter’s wolf brought me a dead rabbit and well, I didn’t think too much of it first, until Cora and Derek told me that’s courting behaviour. Next was a whole deer. God, we ate so much deer … I don’t think I can ever eat it again.” Stiles chuckles. 

“What does courting mean?” Noah asks, shifting on his chair. “Isn’t that something that some animals do to, uh, mate?” The crease between his brows furrows, he grimaces, and Stiles guesses his dad is seeing disturbing images in front of his inner eyes. 

“Well, yes. Wolves court potential partners before they mate. They provide them with food, proving their worth. They also snuggle and cuddle, spending many days together without leaving each other’s side, before they, uh, before they …” Stiles blushes. 

Noah takes a deep breath. “Stiles …”

“No!” Stiles yells, horrified. “No, nothing like that happened, okay? For God’s sake. Peter’s wolf just brought me food and cuddled with me. And tried to protect me when that awful rogue Alpha appeared out of nowhere. And when Peter shifted back to human … well, he told me he is going to stop the courting.” 

“That’s reasonable. You are way too young for him,” Noah points out and nods. 

“I told him to continue,” Stiles says bluntly. 

“Stiles!” 

“No! Don’t _Stiles_ me,” Stiles says and glares. “You were the one who told me I would know when I meet the one. You didn’t tell me I am supposed to carry a check list around with me, making sure whoever I fall in love with fits the criteria!” he stops, blinking in surprise when he realizes what word he just used. Well. His dad noticed too. Of course he did. 

“Love,” Noah repeats weakly, pressing a hand against his forehead. “Are you serious?” 

“I guess?” Stiles says slowly, his heart thundering in his chest. 

“You do realize he could be your father too?” Noah asks, moving the hand over his mouth, his eyes wide and disbelieving. 

Stiles huffs. “He is not _that_ old. I mean, he never gives me a straight answer to the age question, but since Derek said they were at school together and Peter was always keeping an eye on him there, there can’t be that many years between them.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you are still a minor.”

“Dad, Peter isn’t stupid. Neither am I. Nothing we do is on the wrong-things-side, I can assure you. You seem to have forgotten that Peter had a case of statutory rape in his own family? Did you forget about what Kate did to Derek?” 

“No. Of course I didn’t,” Noah says quietly. 

“Good. Peter isn’t doing anything like that to me, okay? He isn’t trying to use me or anything like that.” 

Noah works his jaw. “So … you really like him like _that_?” 

Stiles thinks for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, I like him like that.” 

Noah sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know how to feel about this, Stiles. He’s killed people. Quite a few. He hurt your friends.”

“He killed the ones responsible for the fire. They killed his family and put him in a six year coma. He was all alone with his trauma. Also everyone was getting away with it. Kate Argent? She was walking free, killing even more wolves. It’s quite a grey area we are dealing with here.” 

“A very dark shade of grey,” Noah mutters. 

Stiles sighs. “Look, he’s changed. Can’t you give him a chance? I gave him one and I don’t regret it. He’s been trying. He helped with the Nogitsune and he never told Scott or Lydia they needed to like and forgive him. He just wants to have a few good things in life now, after everything was taken from him. I can get behind that. I mean, he clearly needs therapy. But let’s be real … we all could need some proper therapy. And certainly not the kind they provide at Eichen House.” 

Noah hums. His fingertips tap a restless rhythm on the table. He looks at Stiles for a long moment. Finally, he asks, “How do you feel when you are with him?” 

“I feel safe with him,” Stiles says without hesitance. “Safe and comfortable. Like with no one else.” 

His Dad’s gaze softens. “Okay.” 

Stiles blinks. “Okay? Just like that?” 

“Yeah. But,” his dad raises a finger and arches his brows, “but tell him I am going to shoot him if he hurts you in any way. And I mean it.” 

Stiles grins. “I will tell him.” 

Noah sighs. “You know I’m just worried about you, right? I care about you.” 

“I know, Dad. It will be alright.” 

“I should be the one telling you that,” his dad says and shakes his head. 

“We can tell it to each other. I have been taking care of you too, didn’t I?” Stiles asks, remembering the days he has made dinner for them. It was just crappy, cheap frozen pizza, thrown into the microwave. But it was food. 

Maybe, his dad remembers so too, because his eyes are distant. Pained. “Yeah. You shouldn’t have had to do it, though. Not so soon.” 

“It’s life. Life doesn’t care about soon or late,” Stiles tells him and his dad looks at him in astonishment. 

“Sometimes, you don’t sound like you are barely over seventeen,” he says. 

Stiles shrugs. “Do you want to hear about my magic, now?” 

His dad’s face falls. “Oh. Yeah. There was something else, I almost forgot.” 

* * *

Peter paces aimlessly, his hands clenched into fists inside the pockets of his jacket. 

He doesn’t like leaving Stiles’ behind. His wolf doesn’t like it. Although it is ridiculous, because nothing is going to happen to Stiles where he is now. Still, he is not where he is supposed to be. There could always be _something_. Something could happen. Something bad, something that takes Stiles away from him. 

The thought makes Peter shiver. Yet again, he feels for his bond to Stiles, feels for anything unusual. Nothing. To be sure, he checks the bonds to Cora and Derek too. They are calm. Peaceful. 

It still doesn’t manage to take the feeling of dread away from him. He is used to it. Doesn’t make it less unsettling. 

Noah’s reaction startled him. He didn’t think at that moment. Didn’t think about how a human might react to the idea of courting. Didn’t think about how Noah doesn’t know what happened at the cottage, doesn’t know about the bond building. It was stupid. His parents always told him he has a talent for riling people up. 

_Why do you always have to ruin things? Why are you like this?_ a voice whispers in the back of his mind. 

The voice sounds an awful lot like Talia. 

Peter tries to push it away. He wonders what Noah and Stiles are talking about right now. Noah was furious. He might still be. Maybe, after their talk, Stiles is going to tell Peter that they need to put some distance between them. That Peter should stop the courting after all. 

It wouldn’t be so surprising, would it? He is used to people keeping their distance for various reasons. 

But the thought of Stiles being one of them … That hurts more than usual. 

Peter is so lost in his own thoughts, he doesn’t even notice he isn’t alone anymore, until a voice says behind him, “My, did dying and coming back damage your senses or are you getting old?” 

He flinches and snaps his head around, relaxing when he sees who is right in front of him. “Maria.” 

The woman smiles, her brown-green eyes glowing stormy white for a moment. She throws her curly red hair back. “In person. Long time no see, Peter.” 

* * *

Stiles waits in front of the preserve anxiously, fidgeting with the keys of the jeep and leaning against the still warm hood. 

Peter sent him a message earlier, telling him he would meet his teacher today. 

Stiles first felt euphoric, then a bit nervous. What if he is going to suck? He sucks at many things. Maybe at magic too. That would be awful. 

Fortunately, he doesn’t have much time to worry. After only a few minutes, Peter approaches him, talking to a woman Stiles doesn’t know. She has curly red hair and a lot of freckles. Also, there are a few long scars on the left side of her face which go from forehead down to her chin. Stiles instinctively knows they come from a werewolf and winces in sympathy. That must have hurt like hell.

“You must be Stiles,” the woman says once she is in front of him, eyeing him up and down. He just nods. 

“Stiles, this is Maria. She is going to be your teacher,” Peter tells him. “Maria is one of the best druids. She is the emissary of an old pack in Wisconsin, so she can’t stay long, but she knows everything there is to know about spark magic and I am sure she will get you ready in no time.” 

Maria chuckles. “Peter is exaggerating, but I am sure we will get to that magic inside you fast. I can feel it. It is strong.” 

Stiles blushes. “Cool.” 

Peter looks at him curiously. “Your father doesn’t mind you are here? With me?” 

Stiles smiles. “Nope. He doesn’t mind. We talked and he said it’s okay. But he also told me to tell you that he is going to shoot you if you hurt me. Sorry.”  
  
Peter shrugs. “Fair enough. But I am never going to hurt you or let you be hurt, so he won’t have a reason to use his gun.” 

Stiles blushes even more. He sees Maria glancing between them curiously, before she says, “Let’s go to the Nemeton, shall we?” 

* * *

Stiles looks so very nervous, standing in front of the Nemeton, his body tense and his arms stiff by his side. 

Peter can smell the anxiety coming from him. But it is mixed with excitement. And underneath it all, there is the magic. A pulsing, bright spot. 

“So you used your magic once, to protect yourself from a werewolf, but it was kind of an explosion, right?” Maria asks. 

Stiles swallows and nods, glancing at Peter. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t only protecting myself. I was also protecting Peter and Derek. I wasn’t in control. It just … it happened.” 

Maria hums. “The first thing we are going to do is teaching you how to be in control. It shouldn’t be an explosion, but a flow of energy you lead with your consciousness, you understand?” 

“Yes,” Stiles nods eagerly. “How do I do that?” 

Maria wordlessly extends her hand and after a moment, a little purple flame appears, dancing on the palm of her hand. Stiles’ breath hitches while he is watching it. Maria moves her fingers and the flame changes into a wave, floating through the spaces between her fingers and around her wrist. 

“Wow,” Stiles whispers. “How do you do that?” 

“I give the magic a shape. I focus on the shape and the magic takes it, moving as I will,” Maria tells him. “You can give it any shape you want. Just imagine it in front of your eyes.” 

“Okay,” Stiles says and closes his eyes, his brows furrowing. A few moments pass. Eventually, Stiles opens his eyes. “I have a shape.” 

“Good. Now, listen inside. Try to feel the magic flowing through your veins,” Maria advises, her voice calm. 

Stiles closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath. “I can feel it,” he says almost immediately. “It is rushing.” 

Peter can feel it too. Now, a bit more intense. Maybe, because Stiles is focusing. His wolf purrs, not able to think anything else but _mate_. 

“Now,” Maria says, watching Stiles closely, “imagine you open a door and you let the magic outside, but only in the shape you imagine it in.” 

Stiles looks a bit worried. “Don’t you think this is dangerous. I don’t want to hurt Peter or you.” 

“Don’t worry. If it is necessary, I will create a shield. But I am sure you can do it,” Maria encourages. 

Stiles chews on his lip and his eyes flick to Peter. 

Peter nods at him and smiles. “You can do it, Stiles.” 

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here we go …” He extends his hand and stares at it, his brows coming together. For a long moment, nothing happens. A few drops of sweat appear on Stiles’ forehead and he groans. A few heartbeats later, his hand starts to glow and a little orange fox appears. 

Stiles looks down at it in awe. “Woah. I just did that.” 

“You did,” Maria smiles. “Your shape is quite remarkable.” 

Stiles hums. “I had inspiration.” 

* * *

“So, a fox, hm?” Peter says when he supports Stiles on the way to the couch. The human is completely exhausted. He didn’t even complain once when Peter insisted on driving and made Stiles sit on the passenger seat. 

Stiles groans and lays on his back, blinking up at the ceiling. “Yeah. A fox. I was surprised too. But … you know, this is a good, little fox. My own. Not that monstrous thing tricking people and killing them. My fox, my magic, hopefully helping people.” 

Peter smiles. “I like that. You make something beautiful out of something ashen.” 

“Hmmm. Guess I do,” Stiles mutters and his eyes flutter close. “Your couch is so comfy. I think I am going to fall asleep.” 

“That’s alright. You’re safe here,” Peter tells him. 

“I know that,” Stiles murmurs, barely audible anymore. “I’m always safe with you.” 

The words cause Peter’s wolf to yip happily. Make him feel warm inside. 

It wasn’t easy to return to the apartment. His chest felt tight and his throat dry when he stood in the elevator with a half-dozing Stiles. But he focused on the way Stiles’ heart and bond pulsed slowly, evenly, and it calmed him down enough to be able to push the memories back. 

He looks down at Stiles, who is asleep now, his chest rising and lowering gently. Stiles did amazing today. Maria was impressed. Didn’t happen often. She certainly was never impressed by Deaton or Talia or anyone else. Peter smirks when he remembers the pranks he and Maria used to play the pack. Well, until the accident happened, that is. The memory of that makes the warmth in his chest disappear a bit. 

_Why do you always have to ruin everything …_

Peter shakes his head and sits on the carpet in front of the couch, leaning back against it. Stiles’ hand is hanging off it and Peter leans his cheek against it carefully, just for a moment. A little bit of comfort, safe and unseen.


End file.
